GATHERED  THISTLES 


OR  A 


STORY  OF  TWO  HOUSEHOLDS 


S.  ELIZABETH  SISSON 


HAMMOND  BROTHERS 
FREMONT,  NEB. 


Q«pO  MY  HUSBAND:  Without  whose  kindly 
co-operation  and  larger  faith  this  little  uhome 
story"  had  not  ventured  from  the  quiet  of  a 
parsonage  closet  shelf,  this  book  is  lovingly  dedi- 
cated. S.  E.  S. 


2047048 


**£&*&££&*«  CCS  &£•«»&«•:  e  ~  &  £*fr  t  £  &££*  £S^fcfc  t  *£* 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAGE. 

A  DOUBLE  WEDDING 9 

CHAPTER  II. 

A  WESTWARD  JOURNEY— PETER  CARTWRIGHT 18 

CHAPTER  III. 
GETTING  SETTLED 29 

CHAPTER  IV. 
AFTER  FIFTEEN  YEARS 37 

CHAPTER  V. 
CHARACTER  STUDY, 48 

CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  WAR— AN  ACCIDENT— LOUISE  AND  RICHARD 57 

CHAPTER  VII. 
ACADEMY  LIFE  AND  HOME  EVENINGS, 67 


6  TABLE  OF  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

ASBURY'S  DECISION 76 

CHAPTER  IX. 
A  LOVE  AFFAIR  AND  A  MOTHER'S  VIEW  OF  IT, 83 

CHAPTER  X. 

COLLEGE — A  STUDY  OF  HOMES, 97 

CHAPTER  XI. 
DEVELOPED  CHARACTER, 105 

CHAPTER  XII. 
RICHARD  AND  LOUISE, 114 

CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  PREACHER — A  SOPRANO — FLOSSIE, 126 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

THERESE — BANKRUPTCY, 141 

CHAPTER  XV. 
JOHN,  THE  YOUNGER 151 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
A  VISIT— A  RKSULT— LEAVING  THE  FARM 163 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
GETTING  SETTLED— LIFE  IN  A  COLLEGE  CLUB, 175 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
AN  ORATORICAL  CONTEST— SAD  ENDING,  .  .   185 


TABLE  OF  CONTENTS.  1 

CHAPTER  XIX. 

FAREWELL— LIFE  CHOICE, 195 

CHAPTER  XX. 

TEIERESE-ON  BOTH  SIDES  OP  AN  OCEAN, 208 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
SOME  GRADUATES— A  WEDDING 219 

CHAPTER  XXII. 

SEPTEMBER— A  LETTER 229 

CHAPTER  XXIII: 
A  KANSAS  PREACHER — His  WORK 237 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A  RETROSPECT — A  WEDDING — DEATH  OP  RICHARD 

NEWTON 248 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
A  FAMILY  REUNION— GATHERED  THISTLES 258 


CHAPTER  I. 

A  DOUBLE  WEDDING. 

HE  TIME  was  away  back  in  the  forties,  and 
the  morning  was  one  of  the  balmiest  in 
blossom-crowned  May  when  Lynton,  a  little 
New  England  village,  was  strangely  astir. 

It  was  easy  to  see,  upon  ever  so  slight  an  inves- 
tigation, that  this  unusual  activity  centered  in  the 
rustic,  ivy-covered  village  church,  for  the  sound  of 
merry  young  voices  from  within  was  borne  out 
upon  the  fragrant  air,  through  the  doors  which 
stood  invitingly  open.  A  glance  through  them 
shows  a  group  of  the  village  young  people  who 
with  evergreens  and  flowers  are  making  the  plain, 
almost  stern  walls  of  the  room  radiant  with 
beauty. 

This  in  preparation  for  a  much  anticipated  event, 
a  double  wedding.  As  the  wedding  hour  is  rapidly 
nearing  it  may  be  well  to  have  an  introductory 
word  concerning  not  only  the  happy  couples  who 
are  to  be  the  principals  in  the  -event,  but  the  quaint 
little  village  of  Lynton  as  well.  Picturesque  Lyn- 
ton, its  friends  lovingly  call  it. 


10  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

The  latter  was  situated,  as  has  already  been  said, 
in  one  of  the  New  England  states;  a  portion  of  it 
appeared  to  half  cling  or  perch  upon  the  rocky  hill 
upon  which  it  was  built,  the  remainder  stretched  on 
across  Hazel  Run,  a  tiny  stream,  losing  itself  in  the 
fertile  meadow  beyond,  the  onlv  bit  of  land  really 
suitable  for  tillage. 

In  a  brown,  weather-beaten  cottage  in  the  hill 
clinging  part,  lived  Rachel  Ewing,  with  her  father 
and  mother,  she  being  the  oldest  of  a  large  family. 

There  is  a  bit  of  yard  in  front  of  the  cottage, 
scrupulously  clean,  while  a  rocky  walk,  bordered 
on  either  side  by  beds  of  springing  crocuses  and 
gorgeous  Easter  flowers  leads  up  to  the  open  door, 
through  which,  on  this  same  May  morning,  the 
breezes  come  in  unhindered. 

How  tidy  and  home-like  is  the  little  front  room, 
though  the  furnishings  are  very  plain.  A  bright 
rag  carpet  is  upon  the  floor.  There  are  some  com- 
fortable looking  wooden  chairs,  and  in  one  corner 
a  stand,  upon  which  we  notice  a  substantiallv  bound 
family  Bible,  a  book  of  Psalms  set  to  music,  and  a 
few  other  volumes,  mostly  of  the  sterner  religious 
kind  of  the  day,  for  Jacob  Ewing  was  a  God-fearing 
man.  Daily  had  his  children  seen  him  take  down 
the  Bible  and  heard  him  read,  with  an  awesome 
voice,  lessons  for  their  guidance. 

At  the  rear  of  the  house  stood  a  great  apple  tree 
under  whose  spreading  branches,  during  many  a 
happy  hour,  the  children  of  the  home  had  found  a 


A  DOUBLE  WEDDING.  11 

delightful  play  ground.  This  to-day  had  yielded  a 
part  of  its  treasures  for  the  room's  adornment. 

On  either  side  of  the  ancient  clock,  which  stood 
in  the  exact  center  of  a  very  tall  wood  mantel,  was 
a  bowl  of  fragrant  apple  blossoms,  while  in  a  little 
room  just  back  of  the  one  that  has  engrossed  our 
attention,  deft  fingers  are  pinning  sprays  of  the  same 
sweet  blossoms  at  the  throat,  and  twining  others  in 
the  hair  of  fair  young  Rachel,  one  of  the  brides  for 
whom  evergreens  and  flowers  are  gracing  the 
village  church. 

The  stiff,  yet  relentlessly  true  finger  of  the  old 
family  clock  points  the  hour  at  which  the  walk  to 
the  church  shall  begin,  and  John  Stevenson  walks 
in  to  claim  his  bride. 

Amid  the  hurry,  yes,  and  heartaches,  of  this  su- 
preme moment,  we  turn  and  speed  down  the  rocky 
street,  and  on  across  the  little  wooden  bridge. 
Here  the  houses  are  seen — perhaps  not  cleaner 
nor  yet  more  homelike  than  in  the  hilly  part,  but  a 
more  liberal  use  of  paint, — shutters  at  the  windows, 
and  here  and  there  a  pretentious  two-story,  tells  of 
greater  worldly  prosperity. 

At  the  gateway  leading  up  to  one  of  the  most 
comfortable  of  these  homes  stands  an  old  family 
carryall,  and  just  now,  out  from  her  mother's  door- 
way (her  father  having  lain  in  the  church  yard 
more  than  a  year)  Margaret  Allen  is  coming,  lean- 
ing upon  the  arm  of  William  Newton,  whose  name 
she  is  so  soon  to  bear. 


12  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Now  while  the  two  bridal  parties  are  on  the  way 
to  the  church,  there  will  be  time  for  a  hasty  glance 
at  the  home  of  Margaret,  and  to  glean  something 
of  the  history  of  the  two  girls. 

From  the  days  when  Rachel  Ewing  and  Marga- 
ret Allen  first  trudged  off  together  to  the  village 
school,  a  peculiar  friendship  had  existed  between 
the  two.  Though  Margaret's  father  had  owned 
much  of  the  fertile  meadow  land  beyond  the  village, 
while  Rachel's  could  claim  as  his  own  but  the 
weather-beaten  cot  that  housed  his  bairns,  yet  so 
sturdy  and  common-sense  was  the  New  England 
atmosphere  of  that  day,  that  because  of  the  honesty 
of  purpose  and  integrity  of  heart  which  Jacob  Ewing 
was  known  to  possess,  he  stood  quite  as  high  in  the 
esteem  of  his  neighbors  as  though  broad  acres  had 
been  his;  hence  there  had  not  been  a  thought  of 
anything  incongruous  in  the  abiding  friendship  be- 
tween the  girls. 

Together  they  had  sat  at  the  low,  wooden  desks 
of  the  school;  later  on  their  voices  had  rung  out 
together  in  song  in  the  church  in  whose  com- 
munion each  had  been  raised.  It  w-as  fitting,  there- 
fore, that  to-day  they  should  stand  together  at  its 
simple  chancel  while  the  mystic  words  were  said 
that  should  change  them,  at  a  bound,  from  light- 
hearted  girls  into  women,  looking  fearlessly  into 
the  face  of  the  future. 

Great  interest  had  centered  in  this  event,  for  not 
only  were  the  young  couples  well  known,  but 


A  DOUBLE  WEDDING.  13 

it  was  further  known,  that  on  the  morning  fol- 
lowing the  marriage  they  were  to  leave  forever 
their  village  home,  make  the  long  journey  west- 
ward, and  that  somewhere  on  those  western 
prairies,  of  whose  wildness,  rumor  had  much  to 
say,  two  new  homes  would  arise.  The  two  great 
covered  wagons  that  were  to  bear  them  westward 
had  stood  for  the  last  week  back  of  the  village 
smithy,  objects  of  supreme  interest;  hence  it  was 
not  strange  that  at  an  early  hour  the  church  had 
been  filled,  with  an  eager  assemblage  of  friends. 
After  this  digression,  we  too  will  join  the  waiting 
assembly,  and  it  will  not  be  out  of  place  if,  as  the 
wedded  pairs  slowly  pass  down  the  aisles,  we  turn 
with  the  audience  for  a  passing  glance. 

John  Stevenson  and  his  bride  Rachel  are  in 
front.  There  is  no  mistaking  the  plain,  rugged 
honesty  of  his  face,  while  the  browned  hands, 
indeed  the  whole  bearing,  in  some  subtle  manner 
tells  of  a  life  experience  that  has  been  largely  a 
hand-to-hand  struggle  with  a  rocky  New  England 
farm. 

Unconsciously  though,  there  is  that  in  the  face 
which  speaks  of  a  victory  gained.  The  eyes  rest 
lovingly  upon  his  bride  with  an  air  of  fond,  trust- 
ful proprietorship. 

Large  of  build,  rugged,  kindly  of  disposition,  the 
student  of  human  nature  sees  at  once  that  he  will 
lean  upon  his  wife,  consult  with  her,  be  influenced 
by  her  as  neither  she  nor  he  suspects.  Thus  far, 


14  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

life  has  held  but  few  joys  for  him,  for  his  mother 
had  died  many  years  ago,  and  with  her  all  that 
might  have  made  his  life  joyous.  No  wonder  that 
he  invites  the  future. 

And  she?  Beautiful?  Well,  they  who  know 
her  best  scarcely  think  of  beauty,  yet  there  is  no 
plainness  in  the  clear  complexion,  nor  in  the 
shapelv  hands,  though  these  are  hard  with  toil;  but 
not  one  in  all  that  company  of  village  folk  is 
thinking  of  these,  but  rather  of  the  loving,  helpful 
spirit  which  shines  in  the  large  gray — at  times 
almost  blue — eyes.  As  she  is  passing,  these  acci- 
dentally rest  for  a  moment  upon  the  eager  up- 
turned face  of  a  neighbor's  child,  and  in  an  instant 
the  little  heart  is  gladdened  by  a  smile  of  recogni- 
tion and  in  the  smile,  and  the  self-forgetfulness  that 
allowed  it,  is  mutely  revealed — that  innate,  name- 
less "something" — which  causes  dumb  animals  to 
instinctivelv  turn  to  its  possessor  for  protection, 
and  little  children  to  bring  their  childish  trials. 

Though  a  smile  so  readily  comes  to  the  mouth, 
there  is  a  firmness  about  the  clearly  cut  lips;  yes, 
a  firmness  that  it  is  easy  to  believe  might  become 
akin  to  sternness.  Somehow  as  Rachel  passes  out 
the  rustic  church  we  involuntarily  recall  grew- 
some  stories  of  young  girl  martyrs,  and  we  men- 
tally aver,  this  New  England  girl-wife  will  have 
abiding  principles  and  maintain  them. 

If  John  Stevenson  and  his  bride  have  proven 
an  interesting  study,  William  Newton  and  his  fair 


A  DOUBLE  WEDDING.  15 

Margaret  are  not  less  so.  The  former  had  come 
to  Lynton  but  a  twelve-month  ago  as  the  manager 
of  a  large  saw  mill,  which  was  fast  changing  the 
great  forests  about  Lynton  into  acres  of  stumps, 
which  later  should  give  way  to  waving  fields  of 
ripening  grain. 

So  well  had  he  deported  himself  that  he  not  only 
became  a  strong  factor  in  the  village  life,  winning 
the  esteem  of  all,  and  the  love  of  beautiful  Mar- 
garet Allen  as  well.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  nature 
has  cast  him  in  an  entirely  different  mold  from 
that  of  rugged  John  Stevenson.  There  is  a  rest- 
less acuteness  about  the  eyes  which  indicate  greater 
business  ability.  There  is  about  him  an  easy  air  in 
his  smart  new  wedding  suit,  and  a  something 
which  proclaims  an  acquaintance  with  the  world. 

He  is  a  communicant  at  the  altars  of  the  same 
church  as  are  the  others,  but  seeing  him  we  can 
but  speculate  as  to  what  would  be  his  course  should 
duty  and  worldly  prosperity  clash. 

But  John  Stevenson's  eyes  do  not  rest  more 
lovingly  upon  his  bride's  than  do  William  New- 
ton's upon  the  fair  Margaret;  however  different 
•otherwise  they  may  be,  they  are  one  in  love  for 
their  chosen  companions. 

As  has  been  said,  Margaret's  home  had  been 
one  of  comfort  and  plenty.  Her  parents  were 
found  each  Sabbath  among  the  worshipers,  yet  to 
serve  God  had  not  been  with  Richard  Allen,  as 
with  Jacob  Ewing,  the  supreme  motive  of  life. 


16  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Much  dearer  to  him  than  thoughts  of  God  had 
been  his  fertile  acres  with  accompanying  flocks 
and  herds.  Indeed  in  his  heart  he  had  fixed  for 
himself  a  creed,  the  liberality  of  which,  had  they 
but  known  it,  would  have  startled  the  staid  people 
he  worshiped  with.  Yet  his  family  understood  it 
well,  and  none  better  than  Margaret.  From  the 
time  she  could  toddle  she  had  been  his  chosen 
companion. 

As  she  grew  older,  various  traits  peculiar  to  the 
father  appeared  in  the  child,  until  it  came  to  be  a 
saying  with  the  other  members  of  the  family, 
"Margaret  is  father  over  again." 

We  have  already  said  she  was  beautiful.  As 
she  left  the  altar  on  her  wedding  day  she  looked 
the  embodiment  of  loveliness.  Added  to  rare  reg- 
ularity of  features,  were  a  beautiful  form,  graceful 
carriage,  and  an  almost  faultless  complexion.  A 
wavy  mass  of  brown  hair  was  brushed  back  from 
the  forehead  and  coiled  about  the  shapely  head. 
Seeing  her  we  see  a  beautiful  picture;  yet,  as  with 
many  another  picture,  there  is  a  sense  of  dissatis- 
faction. Can  it  be  that  in  the  graceful  curl  of 
those  lips,  in  the  poise  of  that  delicate  chin,  there 
is  a  hint  of  selfishness?  Or  do  the  eyes,  dark  hazel 
as  they  are,  lack  in  gentleness?  We  can  scarcely 
tell.  Yet  the  face  is  not  one  we  would  care  to  go- 
to with  a  heartache,  especially  if  to  ease  the  ache 
self-denial  would  be  required. 

Just  now  she  is  strong  in  the  new  love  which  has- 


A  DOUBLE  WEDDING.  17 

stirred  her  heart,  and  she  is  bravely  going  to  the 
hardships  of  pioneer  life.  Indeed  if  there  are  any 
hardships,  they  are  lost  in  the  strong  glamour 
which  love  and  distance  have  thrown  about  that 
strange  new  life  beyond. 

But  the  last  echo  has  died  out  from  the  church 
and  each  couple  are  now  in  separate  homes.  Many 
tears  mingle  with  the  wedding  festivities,  for  the 
covered  wagons  stand  now,  one  at  Rachel's  and 
one  at  Margaret's  door,  and  with  an  agony  the 
young  people  cannot  suspect,  each  mother  packs 
away  in  the  roomy  rear  such  articles  as  space  will 
permit.  There  are  chests  of  linens,  of  bedding,  jars 
of  home-made  sweets,  and  provisions  for  the  long 
journey. 

The  next  day,  amid  sobs  and  heartaches,  the 
home  nest  is  forever  lefc.  Groups  of  villagers 
gather  at  the  brow  of  the  hill  from  whence  the 
road  stretches  on  westward.  They  look  long  and 
earnestly,  and  finally  turn  each  to  their  homes. 
They  have  seen  disappear  around  the  curve  the 
last  faint  flutter  of  white.  The  village  home  of 
Rachel  and  Margaret  would  know  them  no  more. 

The  old,  yet  ever  new  miracle  had  been  re- 
enacted.  The  stranger  of  yesterday  becomes  more 
than  home,  parents,  or  friends.  Strange?  No,  for 
centuries  before  He  foreshadowed  this  home-leav- 
ing when  he  said:  "They  twain  shall  become  one 
flesh." 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  WESTWARD  JOURNEY — PETER  CARTWRIGHT. 

HOWEVER   great   the  sympathy  that  might 
bid    us    linger    with    those    in    the    broken 
homes,    our    interest    henceforth    lies    with 
those  just  out  of  sight,  and  to  them  we  turn. 

Slowly  the  great  wagons  creaked  on.  Margaret 
in  the  agony  of  the  parting  had  flung  herself  upon 
an  improvised  couch  which  loving  hands  had  pro- 
vided for  her  comfort,  and  lay  there  bitterly  sobbing. 
Rachel,  with  tear-stained  face,  kept  fluttering  a  bit 
of  white  cambric  as  a  last  adieu,  until  a  bend  in  the 
road  shut  out  forever  the  little  village.  Presently 
the  last  familiar  hill  or  farmhouse  was  passed;  new 
roadside  scenes  claimed  the  attention,  and  it  began 
to  dawn  upon  those  brave  young  people  that  the 
old  life  was  gone.  Yet  a  future,  fascinating  in  its 
very  strangeness,  awaited  them. 

One  of  the  happiest  qualities  of  youth  is  its  elas- 
ticity. A  wave  of  sorrow  may  sweep  over  it  before 
which  it  bows  as  a  sapling  before  a  storm,  but  such 
is  its  natural  spring  that  it  speedilv  rights  itself,  and 


A  WESTWARD  JOURNEY.  19 

is  erect  again.  So  our  young  friends  soon  found 
much  to  interest  them  in  this  novel  experience. 

There  were  meals  to  be  cooked  by  the  wayside. 
The  woods  abounded  in  game;  squirrels  "leaped 
among  the  branches  of  the  trees  and  chattered 
noisily  down.  There  were  great  flocks  of  quail  and 
of  wild  turkeys.  More  than  once  as  they  came  to 
ford  a  stream  they  would  startle  a  herd  of  timid 
deer.  There  was  a  brace  of  trusty  rifles  in  each 
wagon,  so  the  meals  were  always  supplied  with  the 
choicest  meats.  Then  there  was  the  novelty  of 
going  to  sleep  with  the  stars  blinking  down  so 
familiarly. 

As  has  been  said,  the  journey  began  in  May. 
Many  of  the  streams  were  still  swollen  from  the 
spring  rains,  and  were  without  bridges.  The  roads, 
in  some  places  not  more  than  a  bridle  path,  were 
at  times  almost  impassable.  The  plan  was  to  reach 
Pittsburgh,  there  embark  upon  flatboats  and  journey 
down  the  Ohio  River  as  far  as  Cincinnati,  already  a 
prosperous  city.  Once  there,  they  expected  to 
make  the  remainder  of  the  journey  in  their  wagons 
over  the  National  Road,  this  being  a  kind  of  pike 
or  "built  road,"  under  national  supervision  (as  its 
name  indicates),  which  before  the  era  of  railroads 
contributed  in  no  small  measure  to  the  rapid  settle- 
ment of  the  states  as  far  west  as  Indiana. 

Wonderful  stories  of  the  rich  prairies  that  formed 
so  large  a  part  of  that  great  western  country  known 
as  Illinois  had  reached  their  eastern  home.  These 


20  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

marvelous  tales  of  the  soil's  fertility  as  well  as  the 
unusual  business  facilities,  had  made  this  their  ob- 
jective point. 

So  they  jolted  along,  day  after  day,  on  this 
strange  bridal  journey. 

The  modern  young  husband  buys  a  ticket,  and 
he  and  his  bride  whirl  rapidly  away.  They  "  do  'r 
mountain  or  seaside  resort,  or  "tip"  waiters  in 
European  hotels,  return  at  length  to  their  homes,. 
weary,  already  disgusted  with  life — happily  if  not 
with  each  other. 

Our  old  fashioned  lovers  proceeded  more  slowly. 
What  if  now  and  then  the  road  -was  rough,  or  there 
was  an  hour's  excitement  over  a  swollen  stream,  or, 
as  happened  one  night,  a  great  bear  should  poke 
his  nose  into  the  rear  of  one  of  the  wagons.  The 
greater  part  of  the  time  the  skies  were  blue.  Birds 
in  all  the  ecstacy  of  home-building  sang  -them  their 
most  joyous  songs,  and  they  had — each  other.  And 
what  with  plans  for  the  homes  that  were  to  be,  the 
days  were  none  too  long;  and  Pittsburgh  was  at 
length  reached. 

Good  weather  attended  the  travelers  in  their 
float  down  the  Ohio.  The  flatboats  in  which 
they  journeyed  were  constructed  with  a  kind  of 
sheltered  room  (cabin)  for  the  travelers,  and  an 
enclosed  outer  deck  for  wagons  and  horses.  Black 
Nell,  one  of  the  horses  John  had  driven,  rebelled  at 
this  new  experience,  and  caused  quite  a  commotion 


A  WESTWARD  JOURNEY.  21 

one  night  by  an  attempt  to  jump  overboard,  but  at 
length  became  reconciled  to  the  inevitable. 

Perhaps  in  all  Rachel's  life  she  had  not  known 
so  much  leisure,  and  it  was  to  her  a  never  ceasing 
delight  to  watch  the  green  shadowy  outlines  of  the 
shore. 

At  Cincinnati  they  disembarked,  and  certainly 
the  world  was  going  West,  for  there  were  many 
covered  wagons  like  their  own,  and  in  company 
with  some  of  these  they  began  their  journey  over 
the  comparatively  smooth  "National  Road." 

They  might  have  gone,  as  did  many  emigrants 
of  that  day,  the  entire  journey  down  the  Ohio  and 
thence  up  the  Mississippi,  but  the  added  cost  was  a 
barrier;  besides,  they  wanted  to  judge  for  them- 
selves of  the  country,  and  the  best  place  to  locate. 

Indianapolis,  then  a  thrifty  young  city,  was 
reached;  still  the  horses  heads  were  turned  west- 
ward, and  the  Wabash  valley  was  reached. 

"  Oh  Dear,"  said  Margaret,  one  morning  after 
they  had  resumed  their  journey: 

"  What  kind  of  a  road  is  this,  why — ;"  but  the  sen- 
tence was  lost,  for  just  then  the  front  wheels  of  the 
wagon  gave  a  lurch  downward.  The  horses  gave 
a  sudden  pull  or  Margaret  would  certainly  have 
been  thrown  to  the  ground.  These  plunges  and 
jerks  amid  the  slushiest  and  stickiest  mud  the  trav- 
elers had  ever  known,  continued  throughout  the 
day,  causing  more  discomfort  than  they  had  yet 
known.  The  smooth  National  Road  having  ended, 


22  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

they  were  experiencing  a  stretch  of  "corduroy 
road,"  which  for  the  benefit  of  the  modern  bicycler 
on  asphalt  it  may  be  explained,  was  made  by  cutting 
lengths  from  trees  of  various  sizes  and  laying  them 
crosswise  in  the  slush  or  mud.  As  these  lengths 
vary  in  size  from  saplings  to  respectable  trees  the 
jolting  can  be  imagined.  It  was  little  wonder  that 
Margaret  exclaimed  in  agony,  nor  that  all  rejoiced 
when,  after  a  weary  length,  the  smart  young  city  of 
Springfield,  Illinois  was  reached,  where  they  had 
decided  to  stop  for  a  short  period  of  rest,  or  until 
they  could  fix  upon  a  permanent  location. 

Among  the  travelers  the}*  had  fallen  in  with  dur- 
ing their  journey  were  several  who  w'ere  loud  in 
their  praises  of  the  wonderful  advantages  held  out  to 
settlers  by  Burton,  a  mere  stripling  of  a  town  on  the 
Illinois  River.  These  agreed  that  this  must  shortly 
become  a  manufacturing  center,  citing  as  arguments 
Ms  superior  water  power  and  the  enterprise  of  its 
citizens,  manifested  already  by  the  building  of  a 
railroad  connecting  it  with  the  growing  interior 
towns  of  the  State,  and  promising  to  push  on  farther 
westward. 

As  both  Rachel  and  Margaret  needed  rest,  it  was 
decided  that  they  should  remain  where  they  were, 
and  their  husbands  should  join  a  party  of  men  who 
would  visit  Burton  and  other  points  if  necessary. 

Once  there,  it  did  not  take  the  keen  business  eye  of 
William  Newton  long  to  discover  the  advantages  of 
the  young  town.  Moreover,  a  chance  of  steady 


A  WESTWARD  JOURNEY.  25 

employment  offered.  Upon  the  banks  of  the  river 
stood  a  newly  completed  flouring  mill,  which  being 
the  only  one  in  all  that  section  would  be  kept  busy 
grinding  meal  and  flour.  By  a  happy  chance  he 
secured  a  position  not  greatly  inferior  to  that  of 
manager,  and  so  considered  himself  fortunate. 

The  rich,  black  soil  of  the  gently  undulating  prai- 
ries that  crept  up  to  the  river's  edge,  and  upon 
which  the  town  was  built,  charmed  John  Stevenson, 
used  as  he  had  been  to  the  rocky  hills  about  Lynton, 
and'he  counted  himself  fortunate  when  he  had  bar- 
gained for  one  hundred  and  sixty  acres  not  two 
miles  from  the  town.  Fortunate,  though  years  of 
hard  work,  and,  as  farmers  phrase  it,  of  good  luck^ 
must  be  his  portion,  before  he  could  call  those 
acres  his  own;  fortunate,  though  upon  the  land  there 
was  not  a  roof  to  shelter  either  man  or  beast. 

The  question  of  homes  being  settled  they  lost  no 
time  in  joining  the  waiting  ones  at  Springfield. 

Perhaps  it  has  been  hardly  fair,  in  that  we  have 
left  these  young  girls  alone  so  long,  yet  they  have 
not  been  unhappy.  They  had  each  grown  so  weary 
of  the  last  one  hundred  miles  that  they  welcomed 
the  rest  of  their  quiet  lodging  house.  Besides,  if 
they  cared  to  go  out  there  was  much  to  interest 
them  in  the  strange  new  western  life. 

Their  curiosity  and  interest  was  greatly  aroused 
by  what  they  heard  concerning  a  "  gathering,"  in 
the  neighborhood;  new  to  them,  but  certainly  from 
the  conversation  a  feature  of  the  new  life.  It  was- 


^>4  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

called  a  CY/w/^-meeting,  as  they  learned,  because 
many  would  come,  either  from  a  distance  or  from 
the  neighborhood,  camp  out,  and  spend  the  time  in 
religious  service,  but  such  strange  stories  as  were 
told,  not  only  of  the  services  but  of  the  minister  in 
charge — indeed,  his  original  sayings  were  a  fruitful 
theme  among  the  lodgers  at  every  meal. 

"  Well,  one  thing  sure,"  both  Rachel  and  Marga- 
ret agreed,  "  We  will  visit  the  grounds  and  see  for 
ourselves  before  we  go  further." 

To  this,  their  husbands  upon  their  return  readily 
.assented,  and  the  next  day  set  out  to  attend  an 
evening  service. 

The  camp  ground,  as  the  place  of  meeting  was 
called,  was  simply  a  piece  of  woods  in  which  an  at- 
tempt had  been  made  to  clear  out  the  underbrush. 
As  the  party  drove  into  the  deep  shade  of  the 
woods,  a  weird  scene  presented  itself.  Great 
flaring  tallow  dips  nailed  here  and  there  to  the 
trees  lent  an  uncanny  air  to  the  whole. 

The  tenters  had  for  shelter  the  rudest  kind  of 
board  tents;  indeed  such  were  fortunate,  the  ma- 
jority sleeping  under  their  wagons. 

The  platform  upon  which  the  preacher  stood  had 
been  made  by  felling  two  trees  of  about  the  same 
size,  cutting  away  the  tops,  and  nailing  upon  the 
larger  ends  a  floor  of  unplaned  boards. 

But  the  preaching:  "Surely  there  had  never 
before  been  heard  any  so  forceful,  or  so  peculiar  in 


PETER  CARTWKIGHT.  25 

its  immediate  effects."  So,  at  any  rate,  thought 
our  little  group  of  New  Englanders. 

Pathos,  sublimity,  caustic  wit,  scathing  rebuke  of 
sin,  of  sinners,  .even  of  individuals,  jostled  each 
other  from  the  speaker's  lips,  who  was  none  other 
than  Peter  Cartwright,  one  of  the  most  unique  per- 
sonalities of  the  Illinois  of  that  day.  Tall,  and  of 
rugged  build,  with  hair  brushed  back  in  a  kind  of 
shock  from  his  forehead,  he  towered  a  very  giant 
come  to  announce  the  destruction  of  the  wicked. 
His  eyes  seemed  to  flash  fire,  especially  when  a 
miscalculating  band  of  rowdies  thought  to  intimi- 
date the  preacher  and  the  congregation.  Rachel 
had  heard  sermons  all  her  life,  but  for  personal 
-directness  nothing  to  equal  this.  The  preacher 
taught  and  urged  a  distinct  work  of  grace  in  the 
heart  and  a  consecration  of  one's  life,  whatever  be 
their  calling,  to  the  Lord. 

The  sermon  was  followed  by  the  altar  service, 
and  such  a  service!  How  they  crowded  the  rude 
wooden  bench,  young  and  old.  Presently  a  sister 
"got"  religion.  "JLook,  look  at  her  face!"  Rachel 
excitedly  pulled  the  sleeve  of  John  for  him  to  see. 
It  seemed  actually  transformed,  for  the  woman  was 
plain  in  appearance  and  evidently  a  daughter  of 
toil.  "  Hear  her  shout! "  Now  another  takes  up 
the  strain.  Back  in  the  audience  a  little  knot  has 
gathered  about  a  prostrate  form.  It  is  that  of  a 
man  who  has  been  "seeking"  for  several  days.  He 
lies  rigid,  motionless,  to  all  appearances  dead.  The 


26  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

friends,  nothing  alarmed,  sing  and  pray  and  wait 
for  him  to  "come  through,"  which  he  does  after  a 
time,  with  shouts  of  joy. 

Strange,  blessed  history  of  the  pioneer  church. 
The  so-called  refinement  of  a  later  day  may  smile, 
and  with  delicately  pursed  lips  may  whisper  "eccen- 
tricities!" but  after  all  it  is  borne  in  upon  us,  that 
these  fathers  and  mothers  "got"  a  something  that 
lifted  them  above  the  hardships  of  a  frontier  life,  a 
something  that  in  many  instances  transformed  the 
wickedest  into  the  most  devout,  something  that  im- 
planted that  farseeing  self-denial  which  founded  the 
colleges  and  built  the  churches  that  together  have 
made  to-day's  boasted  civilization  possible.  In 
short,  they  "came  through"  to  such  a  high  type  of 
Christian  life  that  we  may  well  withhold  our  criti- 
cism and  be  proud  to  do  them  homage. 

When  John  and  Rachel  Stevenson  found  them- 
selves alone,  that  night,  there  was  a  quiet  talk 
between  them — and  as  a  result  of  the  evening's 
strange  service,  a  consecration  of  their  lives  in 
a  sense  different  from  any  they  had  ever 
known  took  place.  In  another  room  William  and 
Margaret  too  discussed  what  they  had  seen  and 
heard,  but  with  them  the  grotesque  and  eccentric 
held  chief  place. 

The  hospitality  and  welcome  accorded  to  stran- 
gers was  a  strong  feature  of  the  day,  and  the  little 
party  made  many  acquaintances  before  leaving  the 
grounds,  among  whom  was  Mr.  Cartwright  himself. 


PETER  CARTWRIGHT.  27 

Though  his  eyes  may  have  flashed  as  he  rebuked 
an  offender,  there  was  no  mistaking  their  kindly 
spirit  as  he  questioned  them  concerning  their  plans. 
As  a  father  might,  he  urged  the  immediate  duty  of 
identifying  themselves  with  Christian  people,  point- 
ing out  that  the  habits  formed  in  the  first  years 
would  shape  the  whole  life.  While  talking  he  drew 
from  the  cavernous  depths  of  a  pair  of  saddle  bags 
close  at  hand,  some  books  and  what  appeared  to  be 
copies  of  a  newspaper.  For  a  moment  he  paused, 
while  from  under  the  shaggy  brows  a  look  at  once 
both  keen  and  critical  darted  from  one  to  another. 
He  continued  "you  will  want  in  the  new  home  not 
only  religion  as  a  corner  stone,  but  intelligence,  and 
whether  you  read,  and  what  you  read  will  come  to 
mean  everything;  therefore  however  small  your 
income,  I  entreat  you,  spend  a  part  of  it  for 
good  books.  Further,  if  your  homes  are  to  be  in- 
telligent in  the  best  sense,  you  will  need  a  kind  of 
literature  that  even  books  do  not  supply.  Here  are 
a  few  copies  of  a  periodical  devoted  to  the  home; 
indeed  it  is  called  The  Christian  Home.  Perhaps 
its  reading  may  not  only  make  the  last  miles  of 
your  journey  pleasanter,  but  show  you  your  need 
of  such  a  friend."  Then  telling  them  that  he  should 
see  them  again,  as  Burton  was  one  of  his  preaching 
points,  he  bade  them  God  speed. 

The  following  morning  the  last  stage  of  the 
journey  was  resumed.  William  had  much  to  tell 
Margaret  of  the  new  home  and  business,  and  neither 


28  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

gave  a  thought  to  the  kindly  preacher  except  to 
laugh  together  at  certain  eccentricities  and  oddities 
of  manner;  but  in  the  rear  John  and  Rachel  jolted 
on,  and  at  times  their  conversation  was  as  serious 
as  even  the  zealous  Mr.  Cartwright  could  have 
desired. 


TcIc^JelcIcIc^I^^ 

I  |;j    ^      ^  | 

IcMcIcIcJcIcIcIc^^^ 


CHAPTER  III. 

GETTING  SETTLED. 

NOTHER  day  and  night  found  these  emi- 
grants in  what  was  to  he  their  new  home, 
Burton.  When  each  had  grown  to  be  old, 
thev  never  forgot  the  strange  newness,  and  unfin- 
ished appearance  of  the  town.  The  streets  were, 
yet  grassy,  and  such  little  houses!  Nearly  all  of 
logs.  Still  there  was  an  air  of  bustling  activity. 
People  went  about  as  if  there  was  a  world  to  build, 
and  but  a  little  time  to  build  it  in,  and  none  caught 
the  contagion  quicker  than  William  Newton.  He 
at  once  began  work  in  the  mill,  and  in  a  little  cot- 
tage, conveniently  near,  Margaret  began  her  house- 
keeping. 

This  little  home  was  very  plain  on  the  outside, 
but  warm  and  cozy  within,  and  soon  under  the  deft 
touches  of  Margaret's  hands  the  home  air  began  to 
grow. 

As  for  the  Stevensons,  the  season  was  so  far  ad- 
vanced the  staple  crop  of  corn  could  not  be  raised 
on  the  farm,  so  a  few  vegetables  for  use  were 
planted,  and  preparations  were  made  for  sowing 


30  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

wheat  later  on.  There  being  no  house,  John's  first 
care  was  to  build  one,  in  the  meanwhile  renting  a 
room  in  Burton  till  it  should  be  completed.  Very 
soon  a  log  house  of  two  rooms  was  ready  for  occu- 
pancy, into  which  they  at  once  moved.  This  may 
not  have  looked  inviting  from  the  outside,  for  the 
log?  were  rough-hewn,  the  spaces  between  the  logs 
or  "  chinks  "  were  mortar-tilled,  and  the  great  out- 
side chimney  hinted  at  comfort  rather  than  beauty. 
But  inside!  Ah,  when  the  great  fire  began  to 
crackle  in  the  capacious  fireplace,  as  it  did  in  the 
early  Autumn;  when  John,  weary  of  his  day's 
work  of  digging,  of  plowing,  came  home  late  in  the 
evening  to  find  a  savory  supper  awaiting  him,  and 
an  earnest,  strong  face  that  lighted  at  his  coming, 
you  would  then  have  forgotten  the  rough  outside 
had  YOU  seen  this,  and  would  have  exclaimed,  "  I 
have  found  a  home." 

A  rude  stable  was  built  for  the  faithful  animals 
that  had  journeyed  with  them,  a  well  dug,  and  pro- 
vided with  a  great  "sweep"  which  lent  a  pictur- 
esqueness  to  the  scene.  With  these  preparations 
they  considered  themselves  ready  for  the  first  win- 
ter in  the  West. 

Just  two  miles  distant  was  the  growing,  spread- 
ing town  of  Burton,  constantly  calling  for  workers; 
here,  when  the  weather  prevented  further  work  on 
the  farm,  he  worked  that  he  might  have  something 
"ahead"  when  the  Spring  should  call  him  back  to 
the  farm. 


GETTING  SETTLED.  31 

While  the  young  husbands  were  busy,  each  at 
their  chosen  work,  time  might  have  seemed  long 
and  wearisome  to  the  girl  wives  had  it  not  been  for 
the  old  sweet  friendship  which  wonderfully  bright- 
ened these  first  months  of  exile  from  friends. 

Often  when  John  was  driving  out  Margaret 
would  accompany  him.  Rachel  would  meet  them 
both  at  the  lane,  and  proudly  escort  Margaret  to 
the  cozy  sitting  room,  where  perhaps  with  laughter 
they  would  recall  some  incident  of  the  long  journey, 
or  with  tender  regret  talk  of  the  dear  old  homes  at 
Lynton.  Before  such  a  visit  had  ended,  Margaret, 
with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur,  would  inspect  Rachel's 
great  brood  of  hens,  interesting  because  they  were 
duty  doing,  as  was  evidenced  by  the  goodly  sum  of 
"egg  money"  that  came  weekly  into  their  owners' 
purse;  or  pay  her  respects  to  the  family  cow  that 
furnished  these  farmer  folks  with  butter  and  milk. 

Then  again  Rachel,  with  a  bit  of  sewing,  would 
spend  a  delightful  day  with  Margaret,  when  much 
ihe  same  program  would  be  enacted.  But  there 
were  stormy  winter  days  and  long  evenings  when 
each  must  stay  by  her  own  fireside. 

These  hours  of  enforced  idleness  might  have 
been  productive  of  what  members  of  a  later 
generation,  when  thrown  upon  their  own  resources, 
wearily  designate  as  ennui.  Not  so  at  the  farm. 
To  them  the  earnest  preacher  had  not  preached  in 
vain.  Already  they  had  begun  to  find  a  new  world 
awaiting  them  in  the  few  books  which  they  owned; 


32  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

besides  they  had  come  to  find,  as  he  had  suggested, 
a  welcome  friend  in  their  home  paper.  In  it  were 
helpful  suggestions  for  farm  and  home,  discussions 
touching  upon  every  question  of  church  or  state, 
stories  of  travel  and  of  biography,  besides  the 
weekly  bulletin  of  the  great  onward  march  of  the 
Church  of  Christ.  After  an  evening  spent  around 
his  fire  side,  reading  aloud  to  interested  Rachel  and 
talking  over  with  her  the  subjects  discussed,  this 
young  farmer  went  about  his  tasks  in  a  different 
spirit.  He  was  no  longer  the  plain  individual  John 
Stevenson,  working  out  his  own  little  problem  of 
existence,  but  a  unit  of  a  great  whole  who  by  doing 
the  duties  of  the  hour,  was  unconsciously  keeping 
step  with  the  onward  march  of  that  great  army 
which  was  ushering  in  a  better  civilization  and 
bringing  the  world  into  harmony  with  ideals  of  its 
Creator. 

More  than  once  Rachel  tried  to  tell  her  friend 
Margaret  something  of  this  pleasure,  but  the  latter 
would  laughingly  say,  "  Oh  Rachel,  you  are  Jacob 
Ewing's  own  daughter,  thinking  more  of  a  creed  than 
of  aught  else,"  for  like  some  others  she  refused  to 
believe  that  a  Christian  literature  could  be  other 
than  a  creed  exponent. 

Perhaps  of  all  the  old  sweet  associations  at 
Lynton  nothing  was  so  greatly  missed  as  the  little 
village  church.  Upon  coming  to  Burton  our  friends 
found  that  the  settlers  before  them  had  taken  pains 
at  once  to  see  that  a  place  for  worship  was  pro- 


GETTING  SETTLED.  3S 

vided.  So  on  a  grassy  knoll  stood  a  little  meeting 
house  which  like  most  of  its  associates,  was  built 
of  logs.  This  differed  in  denomination  from  that 
in  which  our  friends  had  been  raised,  but  was  one 
with  it  in  the  doctrine  of  right  living. 

Here  every  two  weeks  came  a  young  and  zeal- 
ous "circuit  rider,"  and  on  more  state  occasions 
"the  Elder"  of  camp  ground  fame,  who  preached 
as  was  his  wont  of  free  salvation,  and  the  necessity 
for  immediate  repentance. 

On  the  very  first  Sabbath  after  their  arrival  in 
Burton,  four  church  letters  were  handed  the  voung 
minister  and  the  little  congregation  almost  startled 
them  by  the  warmth  of  their  western  welcome. 
"Yes,  there  are  some  things  different,"  Rachel  was 
saying  to  John  that  night — and  her  eyes  had  a  far- 
away look  as  the  vision  of  the  home  church  arose — 
"but  these  people  are  kind,  and  this  is  to  be  our 
home,  so  we  cannot  afford  to  be  critical;  perhaps 
we  can  make  ourselves  of  use." 

"Such  a  queer  little  church,  and  such  odd 
people,"  was  Margaret's  comment  as  she  and  her 
husband  together  discussed  the  hearty  hand-shakes 
and  loud  "Amens"  of  the  morning. 

"  Still  it  is  a  type  of  this  sincere  western  life  of 
which  we  are  now  a  part,"  rejoined  her  husband. 
"And,"  continued  he,  "as  we  cannot  have  our  staid 
old  pastor,  nor  be  a  part  of  his  well  ordered  flock; 
neither  is  it  right  for  us  to  live  out  of  the  church. 


34  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Therefore  let  us  hope  after  awhile,  things  will  not 
seem  so  strange." 

Margaret  made  no  audible  reply,  but  there  came 
echoing  through  her  mind  remembrances  of  many 
sayings  of  her  father,  as  they  had  tramped  about 
the  farm,  and  in  her  heart  she  said,  "  It  amounts  to 
but  little,  after  all." 

By  this  first  public  step,  both  the  Newtons  and 
Stevensons  became  well  known.  As  Rachel  had 
said,  kind  hearts  beat  beneath  the  rough  exteriors, 
and  much  interest  was  manifested  in  the  welfare  of 
the  strangers,  and  on  many  an  occasion  a  helping 
hand  was  held  out. 

The  Newtons  really  knew  nothing  of  the  priva- 
tions of  frontier  life,  for  William  had  a  good  position, 
while  Margaret's  patrimony  had  at  once  secured  to 
them  a  comfortable  home,  but  the  Stevensons  knew 
by  experience  every  phase  of  homebuilding.  Still 
they  were  young,  strong  and  happy,  each  worked 
with  a  will,  and  by  the  time  Spring  had  come  bring- 
ing the  ploughing  and  sowing,  the  humble  log 
house  had  blossomed  into  a  home.  Much  of  the 
furniture  was  of  the  young  husband's  making. 
There  was  a  stand  very  like  the  one  in  Rachel's 
old  home,  and  on  it  was  a  family  Bible  very  like 
its  New  England  counterpart.  Besides  there  was 
a  steadily  growing  pile  of  carefully  read  books  and 
papers. 

One  feature  of  the  room,  purely  ornamental,  must 
not  be  overlooked.  Among  the  treasures  Rachel 


GETTING  SETTLED.  35 

had  brought  from  her  home  had  been  an  ivy  root 
from  the  glossy  green,  which  had  crept  and  clung 
to  the  walls  of  the  village  church.  This  she  planted 
in  a  rude  earthen  pot.  Certainly  western  soil  did 
not  disagree  with  it,  for  it  grew  and  guided  over 
the  little  narrow  window,  spread  itself,  and  growing 
covered  the  rough  logs  with  a  living  beauty. 

We  will  now  leave  our  young  friends  for  a  time. 
It  will  be  theirs  to  fight  their  own  battles  with  the 
privations  and  experiences  incident  to  pioneer  life. 
We  shall  not  look  in  on  them  again  until  many 
years  have  come  and  ^fone.  We  must  not  fail  to 
chronicle  the  fact  however,  that  by  the  time  the  old 
apple  tree  back  in  Rachel's  girlhood  home,  had 
again  scattered  its  sweet  blossoms  to  the  air,  the 
Angel  of  Life  had  knocked  at  the  door  of  each 
humble  home.  At  the  Newton's  there  was  rejoic- 
ing over  a  son  which  the  happy  young  father  pro- 
nounced as  handsome  as  his  mother.  In  this  he 
was  not  alone,  for  the  numerous  visitors,  competent 
witnesses  all,  said  "What  a  wonderful  likeness;  just 
his  mother  over  again,"  but  his  appearance  mattered 
little  to  the  young  mother  who  in  a  happiness  of 
content  of  which  she  had  not  dreamed  cuddled  close 
to  her  heart  sweet  baby  Richard.  In  the  little  log 
farm  house,  Rachel,  too,  could  be  found  crooning 
a  lullaby  to  a  dear  little  morsel  of  humanity,  a  boy, 
who  had  John's  own  honest  eyes,  which  even  in  its 
very  young  babyhood  looked  about  quite  as  gravely 
as  if  life  had  already  proven  quite  a  serious  matter. 


36  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

But  the  mouth  that  Rachel  kissed  was  very  like 
her  own,  and  it  was  not  unlikely  that  something  of 
her  own  nature  lay  hidden  there.  "What  shall  we 
call  the  baby?"  This  question  remained  unan- 
swered, even  until  baby  Richard  began  to  look 
knowingly  when  his  name  was  called.  Finally  it 
came  the  "Elder's"  time  for  his  quarterly  visit. 
He  had  already  gotten  to  call  the  hospitable  farm 
house  home,  so  of  course  he  must  admire  the  sturdy 
boy.  Taking  him  gently  in  his  arms  he  said,  "And 
this  is  Francis  Asbury  is  it?  "  And  that  night  John 
wrote  in  the  leather  bound  family  Bible  the  chosen, 
name,  Francis  Asbury  Stevenson. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

AFTER  FIFTEEN  YEARS. 

JJ^IFTEEN  YEARS;  how  much  may  happen, 
what  changes  occur  in  fifteen  years,  even 
when  the  conditions  are  settled;  but  in  a  new 
western  town  that  length  of  time  may  stand  for  a 
half  century  in  an  older  community. 

Burton  had  moved  forward  like  a  young  giant,  and 
the  summer  of  1858  looked  down  upon  a  smart  lit- 
tle city  that  was  already  fulfilling  the  expectations 
of  its  early  friends. 

Great  rows  of  really  good  buildings  lined  the 
business  streets.  Comfortable  homes,  many  al- 
most luxurious,  had  largely  taken  the  place  of  the 
log  cabins  of  the  past.  On  the  knoll,  still  green 
and  grassy,  stood  a  neat  frame  church  with  slender 
spire,  and  rich-toned  bell.  The  little  log  meeting 
house,  itself  the  strongest  factor  in  to-day's  prosper- 
ity, has  given  way  to  its  more  dignified  successor. 

As  a  business  center  Burton  was  attracting  the 
attention  of  many.  The  Illinois  River  upon  which 
it  was  built  not  only  furnished  a  sufficient  water 
power  for  the  mills  upon  its  banks,  and  opened  up 


38  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

communications  with  the  rapidly  growing  interior 
towns  of  the  State,  but  through  its  outlet  into  the 
broad  Mississippi  brought  the  markets  of  the  great 
cities  to  the  doors  of  the  business  men  of  Burton. 
Besides  this  two  railroads,  with  their  snorting  en- 
gines, now  connected  it  with  the  East  and  North, 
and  were  pushing  on  to  the  great  western  beyond. 

For  these  reasons,  and  because  of  having  been 
first  in  the  field  with  its  mill,  Burton  had  become  a 
center  of  supply  for  grain  and  flour.  The  little 
flouring  mill  into  which  fifteen  years  ago,  William 
Newton  entered  as  an  employee,  had  trebled  its 
capacity. 

Let  us,  for  a  moment  look  in  upon  its  counting 
room.  There  at  the  desk  is  the  proprietor,  a  keen- 
ly alert  business  man,  upon  whom  his  forty  years 
sit  lightly.  We  recognize  the  employee  of  other 
days,  William  Newton,  now  everywhere  spoken  of 
as  one  of  Burton's  most  enterprising  citizens. 

Shortly  after  his  arrival  he  had  grasped  the  finan- 
cial possibilities  of  real  estate,  and  making  some  for- 
tunate investments  was  able  to  make  the  first  pay- 
ment upon  the  mill,  which  was  offered  for  sale.  Once 
in  his  hands  he  managed  its  business  so  successfully 
that  he  became  its  sole  owner,  and  soon  became 
known  as  a  rich  man  to  whom  the  little  world  of 
Burton  took  off  its  hat  in  honor,  after  the  manner 
of  the  greater  world  outside. 

About  a  year  before  the  reopening  of  our  story  r 
on  one  of  the  best  streets  his  new  home  had  been 


AFTER  FIFTEEN  YEARS.  39- 

built.  It  was  large  and  roomy,  of  brick,  and  stood 
in  the  center  of  beautiful,  well-kept  grounds.  While 
a  dweller  in  a  modern  house  might  miss  some  of 
to-day's  luxuries  and  conveniences,  yet  comfort  was 
evidenced  on  every  side.  Through  the  center  ran 
a  great  hall,  on  one  side  of  which  doors  opened  into 
the  large  double  parlors,  whose  side  and  folding 
doors  were  suggestive  of  merry  companies  of  young 
people,  or  statelier  an'd  more  dignified  ones  of  older. 
From  the  other  side  of  the  hall  one  entered  the 
"living  room,"  and  the  large  dining  room  beyond,, 
and  a  great  oaken  stairway  led  on  to  roomy  and 
sunny  chambers  above. 

Over  all  this  rules  Margaret,  the  presiding  genius 
of  it  all,  the  girl  wife  of  long  ago.  In  every  grace- 
ful poise  of  the  well-rounded  form,  as  well  as  in 
the  still  regular  features,  is  seen  the  maturing  of 
the  old  girlish  beauty. 

Richard,  the  first  born,  is  now  a  bright,  handsome 
lad  of  fourteen,  while  a  sister — Marie — has  been 
his  playmate  for  twelve  years.  Therese,  the  house- 
hold pet  is  a  petite  little  maiden  of  eight  summers. 

If  fate  has  dealt  thus  kindly  with  those  of  the  city, 
we  turn  with  eager  expectancy  to  the  farm. 

Though  Burton  had  stretched  itself  out  in  nearly 
every  direction,  it  had  not  seen  fit  to  encroach  up- 
on the  farm,  so  no  fortuitious  chance  circumstance 
had  come  to  the  help  of  the  inmates,  yet  by  patient 
plodding,  and  self  denying  hard  work  on  the  part 
of  both  John  and  Rachel,  every  foot  of  the  farm. 


40  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

was  now  their  own  and  unencumbered  by  debt  or 
mortgage. 

Anyone  who  has  had  an  experience  in  laying  out 
a  home,  or  making  habitable  a  wild  piece  of  land, 
knows  that  ordinarily  it  is  the  work  of  years.  Yet 
our  farmer  friends  had  been  patient  and  willing  to 
persistently  plod,  so  necessary  outlays  were  met  as 
thev  came,  and  now,  as  we  have  said,  the  farm  is 
theirs.  Necessary  improvements  have  been  made, 
sleek  cows  graze  in  the  pastures,  and  a  great  or- 
chard back  of  the  house  is  a  source  of  enjoyment 
as  well  as  of  profit. 

The  improvement  of  the  farm  itself  was  more 
easily  visible  than  that  of  the  house,  for  the  family 
still  occupied  the  two  original  rooms  of  the  log 
house,  with  two  others  which  their  growing  needs 
had  made  imperative.  A  new  home  had  been 
planned,  but  the  one  with  farm  experience  knows 
that  the  comfortable  home  must  come  last.  Yet 
though  the  house  was  of  logs,  it  was  often  said 
there  was  not  a  more  homelike  spot  to  be  found. 

It  is  hard  to  analyze  the  something  that 
makes  a  home.  Yet  it  is  a  verity  the  stranger 
recognizes  as  he  crosses  its  threshold,  a  something 
that  alike  draws  those  with  a  heart  ache  to  its  fire- 
side, and  the  romping  children  of  a  neighbor  as 
well.  But  whatever  it  might  be,  this  farm  home 
was  certainly  rich  in  its  possession. 

It  may  be  the  happy  group  of  boys  and  girls  it 
now  sheltered  contributed  not  a  little  to  this  home 


AFTER  FIFTEEN  YEARS.  41 

feeling  as  they  romped  over  the  rag  carpet  by  the 
great  open  fire  with  its  "backlog"  and  curious  net- 
work of  "  firelog,"  and  sputtering  boughs  of 
hickory. 

Yes,  the  years  had  been  fraught  with  changes, 
and  among  those  apparent  to  even  the  most  casual 
observer  was  the  remarkable  development  of  char- 
acter, especially  noticeable  in  the  Stevensons.  Not 
only  for  rugged,  unflinching  honesty  was  John 
known  among  his  neighbors,  but  they  had  come  to 
know  that  as  he  turned  a  furrow  or  sowed  his 
grain,  he  did  it  intelligently,  and  many  a  one  in  per- 
plexitv  learned  to  find  a  wise  counselor  in  the  quiet 
man,  who  betrayed  by  his  conversation  an  unusual 
familiarity  with  matters  outside  his  daily  life.  But 
it  was  in  the  little  church  which  had  so  long  ago 
heartily  welcomed  the  strangers  that  John  and 
Rachel  Stevenson  had  grown  to  be  most  loved, 
most  depended  upon,  for  during  all  the  years  with 
a  regularity  equal  to  the  coming  of  the  Sabbath  it- 
self, the  faithful  team  and  light  wagon  bore  the 
family  to  church.  One  of  the  recent  innovations 
had  been  the  organization  of  a  Sunday  school,  and 
none  could  be  found  so  capable  for  leader  as  the 
erstwhile  timid  John.  And  Rachel,  with  her  years 
of  quiet  home  reading  was  fitted  to  become  a  valued 
teacher,  indeed,  had  she  lived  in  these  later  years 
of  woman's  organizations  she  would  have  been 
seized  upon  at  once  as  a  "worker."  It  was  curious 
to  note  the  growing  oneness  of  these  twain.  With 


42  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

them  the  scriptural  prophecy  was  being  rapidly  ful- 
filled. Perhaps  the  cause  of  this  lay  in  their  quiet 
farm  life,  every  detail  of  which  was  planned  to- 
gether, but  we  are  inclined  to  think  it  began  in  the 
long  winter  evenings,  when  after  the  roaring,  crack- 
ling hickory  fire  had  begun  to  throw  out  its  richest 
glow  the  plain  walnut  stand  was  drawn  out  from 
its  corner,  the  candle  lighted  and  the  reading  begun. 
At  first  when  the  children  were  little  they  were 
each  tucked  snugly  away  in  their  trundle  bed. 
(Years  afterward  they  loved  to  recall  how  they 
would  lie  awake  as  long  as  possible  listening  to  the 
rich  cadence  of  their  mother's  voice,  or  to  the 
fuller,  deeper,  yet  not  less  kindly  one  of  their 
father).  When  they  became  old  enough  it  became 
their  pride,  indeed  a  coveted  honor,  to  take  their 
turn  as  "reader"  for  the  evening. 

Through  these  years  a  determination  for  the 
higher  education  of  their  children  had  been  grow- 
ing, and  had  taken  deeper  root  than  even  they 
guessed.  Together  the  parents  often  talked  over 
the  means  of  attaining  this  end,  and  were  finally 
helped  in  the  solution  of  the  perplexing  question  by 
a  casual  written  suggestion.  Acting  upon  this  they 
decided  that  on  each  child's  tenth  birthday  to 
present  it  with  a  cow,  the  sole  profits  from  which, 
as  well  as  the  increase,  should  form  a  "college 
fund."  This  the  parents  hoped  would  not  only 
give  the  children  themselves  an  interest  in  the 


AFTER  FIFTEEN  YEARS.  43 

matter,  but  by  the  time  they  needed  it,  furnish 
means  for  an  education. 

They  and  the  Newtons  were  still  friends,  but  the 
growing-  dissimilar  tastes  of  the  two  families  were 
evident. 

From  the  first,  William  Newton  had  been  con- 
sumed by  a  desire  to  get  on  in  the  world;  to  this  he 
bent  all  his  energies.  At  first  he  liked  to  talk  over 
with  his  young  wife  the  affairs  of  the  mill,  but  she 
laughingly  informed  him,  "It  was  too  dreadfully 
prosy,"  besides,  she  had  no  "head"  for  business,  but 
would  he  not  admire  this  delicate  bit  of  her  own 
embroidery  she  was  fashioning  for  Therese  or 
Marie?  Left  to  himself  he  grew  to  live  in  a  rest- 
less, rushing  manner,  borne  down  by  the  pressure 
of  increasing  business.  He  came  hurriedly  to  his 
meals,  and  when  he  came  home  at  night  often  the 
family  had  retired,  unconsciously  he  grew  away  from 
them,  and  they  from  him.  Margaret  too  had  begun 
to  find  life  a  hurried  matter,  for  the  social  honor 
and  homage  paid  to  the  wife  of  a  wealthy — and 
rapidly  growing  more  so — business  man  grew  very 
sweet,  and  society  thrust  upon  her  a  hundred  new 
duties.  The  great  parlors  became  the  social  center 
of  Burton,  and  many  gay  companies  gathered  there, 
for  as  a  hostess  she  had  rare  charms.  Besides  she 
was  really  a  loving  mother  with  great  pride  in  her 
beautiful  children,  and  no  hands  could  fashion  so 
well  the  dainty  apparel  as  her  own. 

What  of  their  church  relationship  during  all  these 


44  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

years?  From  the  first  each,  and  especially  Marga- 
ret, had  been  critical  of  the  fervid  western  style,  and 
this  feeling  had  grown  with  the  years.  Had  they 
but  kept  themselves  in  touch  and  sympathy,  as  did 
the  Stevensons,  with  the  great  religious  world  out- 
side, they  would  have  recognized  this  with  which 
they  were  connected  as  but  a  unit  in  the  givat 
whole,  and  so  had  patience  with  local  peculiarities 
and  failings,  but  this  they  failed  to  do,  and  so  dur- 
ing the  years  gave  less  and  less  of  their  sympathy 
and  drew  more  and  more  within  themselves.  Yet 
each  Sabbath  found  them  sitting  decorously  in  their 
pew.  They  gave  of  their  means  for  the  support  of 
the  church,  but  as  to  a  self-denying  sacrifice,  to 
carry  forward  the  work,  not  one  in  all  the  company 
of  worshipers  would  have  expected  it.  So  had 
they  found  their  place. 

But  we  have  tarried  too  long  with  the  elders;  let 
us  turn  to  the  children,  for  with  these  our  interest 
centers. 

Richard  Newton  was  singularly  like  his  mother 
in  appearance,  with  the  same  beautiful  eyes  and 
mobile  mouth,  and  a  sunny,  happy  disposition  that 
made  him  the  joy  of  the  home.  From  the  time  he 
could  barely  toddle,  his  greatest  delight  had  been 
to  visit  at  the  hospitable  home  of  "Aunt  Rachel." 
As  he  grew  older,  on  such  visits  every  nook  and 
corner  of  the  farm  would  be  explored,  to  say  noth- 
ing of  the  great  roomy  cupboard  with  its  possibili- 


AFTER  FIFTEEN  YEARS.  45 

ties,  or  the  cool  milk  house  with  its  jars  of  rich 
cream. 

Asbury  Stevenson  was  of  his  own  age,  supple, 
strong  and  well  built,  and  shy  upon  the  surface. 
Between  the  boys  there  was  that  indescribable  dif- 
ference that  marks  the  boy  reared  in  the  country 
from  him  familiar  with  town  or  city.  Was  there 
no  other  difference?  Time  will  tell.  These  boys 
were  good  friends,  but  it  was  Louise,  Asbury's  sis- 
ter and  junior  by  two  years,  who  was  Richard's 
born  comrade,  and  who  accompanied  him  upon 
every  exploring  expedition,  no  matter  how  perilous. 
She  was  a  plump  little  maiden  with  brown  hair  that 
rippled  back  from  her  forehead,  good  eyes,  and  a 
sunny,  cheery  face.  Yet  if  she,  in  her  plain  ging- 
ham slip  in  which  her  busy  mother  dressed  her,  had 
stood  for  a  moment  by  the  side  of  dainty  Marie 
Newton  in  her  garniture  of  frills  and  embroidery, 
not  many  would  have  called  her  beautiful. 

But  her  mother  knew  a  strong  soul  was  locked  up 
in  the  little  breast. 

From  the  first  Louise  became  the  constant  play- 
mate of  her  brothers.  Did  they  climb  the  loft  to 
search  for  the  hidden  nest  of  Old  Speckle,  Louise 
could  spring  as  nimbly  up  the  ladder  as  they.  Did 
they  play  marbles?  Louise  soon  mastered  the  mys- 
teries of  "  mumblepeg,"  and  her  shot  was  as  unerr- 
ing as  theirs.  A  tomboy?  Well,  perhaps  she  was. 
Yet  mother  was  beginning  to  depend  more  and  more 
upon  the  s\vift  feet  that  almost  flew  upon  her  er- 


46  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

rands,  and  her  marvelously  sweet,  low  lullaby  often 
soothed  the  younger  ones,  thus  bringing  relief  to 
her  mother. 

As  has  been  said,  she  and  Richard  were  born 
comrades.  When  he  was  but  six  and  she  four  they 
played  at  housekeeping  with  all  the  dignity  of 
elders:  In  childish  disputes  as  whether  the  "house" 
should  be  under  the  old  apple  tree,  or  the  great  elm, 
Louise's  strong  will  usually  won.  Sometimes  this 
capricious  little  girl  was  well  pleased  at  the  result. 
Again  she  would  say,  "  What  did  you  give  up  for.'"' 
"Because  I  had  to,"  retorted  Richard. 

"Maybe  if  I  was  a  boy  I'd  give  up,  every  time," 
Louise  would  rejoin  contemptuously. 

Asbury  was  from  the  first  a  quiet,  studious  boy, 
and  loved  nothing  so  well  as  to  hear  his  mother  read, 
or  as  he  grew  older  read  for  himself.  Besides  he 
and  Louise,  four  other  children  had  come  to  bless 
the  home.  Ruth,  a  quiet  little  girl  of  ten,  and  Ed- 
ward and  John,  two  sturdy,  strong,  sinewy  little 
fellows  still  younger,  and  baby  Rose,  not  yet  a 
year  old  who,  accepting  the  logic  of  events  as  any 
healthy  baby  in  a  large  family  soon  learns  to  do,  lay  in 
her  Crib  crowing  at  a  fleck  of  sunshine  that  filtered 
in  through  the  little  window,  or  with  a  strangely 
serious  air  studied  a  set  of  pink  toes  which  insisted 
upon  discarding  socks,  a  happy,  healthy  baby,  re- 
quiring and  receiving  no  care  beyond  its  natural 
wants.  Rachel  had  begun  to  show  the  effects  of 
these  years  of  toil  and  anxious  motherhood,  yet  such 


AFTER  FIFTEEN  YEARS.  47 

was  her  executive  ability  that  the  domestic  machin- 
ery moved  with  less  jar  than  in  many  less  well  or- 
dered homes  of  smaller  family,  for  each  child  had 
its  appointed  tasks  which  were  performed  without 
question. 

By  means  of  this  method  there  was  time  not  only 
for  church,  but  for  the  evening  with  books  as  well. 
***** 

Having  now  noted  the  changes  wrought  by  the 
years,  and  the  influences  that  are  at  work  to  mold 
the  children  that  gather  about  each  hearthstone,  we 
again  leave  them  for  a  little  space,  knowing  that 
the  harvest  of  seed-sowing  is  rapidly  ripening,  and 
the  inevitable  reaping  must  quickly  begin. 


CHAPTER  V. 

CHARACTER    STUDY. 

f'T  WAS  a  bright    sunshiny   morning  in   May, 
1861,  eighteen   years    from    that    other    Max- 
day  when  the  two   brides  had  gone  out  from 
the  village  church  when  the  two  families  met  at  the 
hospitable  farmhouse  in  honor  of  the  anniversary 
of  the  event.     How    the  great  long  table  groaned 
under  its  steaming   and  tempting  burdens!      How 
the  children,  the  younger  ones  at  least,  raced  and 
romped  over  the  farm! 

The  two  older  ones  of  each  family  Were  at  school 
in  the  "Academy,"  but  they  were  out  to-day  ostensi- 
bly to  do,  honor  to  the  event  of  long  ago,  but  in  reality 
to  have  a  jolly  day  together  on  the  farm  which 
continued  to  be  to  the  Newton  young  folks  the 
greatest  pleasure  imaginable.  We  may  as  well 
pause  here  to  explain  that  the  Academy  was  an  in- 
stitution of  which  the  people  of  Burton  were  be- 
ginning to  take  a  just  pride,  and  which  they  owed 
to  the  far-seeing  intelligence  of  the  very  early 
settlers.  It  had  grown  with  the  growth  of  the 


CHARACTER  STUDY,  1'J 

town  until  now  it  had  begun  to  attract  the  young 
people  of  the  country  and  neighboring  towns. 

Asbury  and  Richard  at  seventeen,  and  Louise 
and  Marie  at  fifteen,  have  outgrown  the  old-time 
scramble  down  the  straw  stacks  and  up  into  the 
roomy  mow,  but  there  was  the  great  swing,  and 
just  far  enough  for  a  delightful  tramp  was  the 
shady  piece  of  woodland,  rich  just  now  in  its  wealth 
of  spring  violets,  buttercups  and  sweet  williams. 
"  Oh  let  us  go  to  the  woods,"  exclaim  the  young 
people,  and  a  little  later  are  searching  among  the 
outlying  roots  of  the  trees  for  the  flowers  that 
nestle  there.  And  we  who  are  watching  them  ob- 
serve that  as  Richard  gathers  the  choicest  of  these,, 
he  shyly  gives  them  to  the  cheery-faced,  light- 
hearted  girl  whose  voice,  as  she  has  walked  by  his 
side  on  the  tramp,  has  gaily  carolled  snatches  of 
song  as  sweet  as  that  of  the  thrush  on  the  bough 
overhead. 

After  the  bounteous  dinner  John  and  William — 
the  latter  having  snatched  a  few  hours  from  his 
business — took  a  stroll  over  the  farm,  for  what 
seems  more  like  a  creation  fresh  from  the  hand  of 
God  than  does  well-kept  meadows  and  hillsides 
after  spring  breezes  have  blown  over  them?  So 
thought  at  least  the  hurried  man  of  business,  as  he 
drank  in  the  quiet  rural  scene,  and  something  like 
regret  crossed  his  mind  at  the  contrast  between  this 
and  his  own  hurried  rush  for  gain.  But  no;  he 
could  never  be  content  with  the  slow,  plodding  life 


50  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

of  the  farm.  Rachel  and  Margaret  lingered  in  the 
cozy  sitting  room  for  reminiscences  of  other  days. 
But  each  in  her  way  was  too  busy  a  woman  to 
dwell  long  in  the  past.  The  growing  interests  of 
their  homes  and  children  had  pushed  the  past 
f arther  -and  farther  back. 

Just  now  they  are  discussing  a  question  of  evi- 
dent interest,  about  which  there  is  evidently  a 
disagreement. 

"No  I  cannot  consent  to  such  a  thing."  It  is  the 
clear,  firm  voice  of  Rachel  that  speaks. 

"And  why  not?  What  possible  harm?"  And 
there  is  a  shade  of  annoyance  in  Margaret's  tones. 

They  are  discussing  a  dancing  school  which  has 
lately  been  opened,  at  which  Margaret  Newton  has 
placed  not  only  Richard  and  Marie,  but  little 
Therese  as  well,  and  she  is  urging  Rachel  to  do 
the  same  with  at  least  her  older  children. 

"  Much  harm  every  way,"  Rachel  rejoined,  "As 
I  see  it;  but,  Margaret,  we  have  gone  over  this 
question  in  some  shape  so  many  times,  it  is  hardly 
worth  while  to  reopen  it."  Yet  Margaret  continued, 

"You  know  1  do  not  favor — no  more  than  you — 
the  public  ball,  but  for  your  children  and  mine,  with 
perhaps  a  few  other  neighbors'  children,  to  dance 
together  in  my  home  or  yours,  is  no  more  harm 
than — than  to  swing  together,"  she  concluded  as 
her  eyes  fell  upon  the  creaking  swing  just  outside. 

"If  children  went  no  further  than  their  parents 
expected  or  intended,  vour  argument  would  be 


CHARACTER  STUDY.  .  51 

good,"  said  Rachel.  "  But  do  you  remember  Hazel 
Run,  at  Lynton,  which  began  in  a  clump  of  hazels 
in  your  father's  farm,  but  became  a  noisy  cataract 
in  Rocky  Hollow  a  few  miles  distant?  How  can 
you  know  but  that  when  your  children  are  older^ 
and  the  world  bids  for  them  remembering  that 
dancing  and  card-playing — I  believe  you  give  it  the 
more  genteel  name  of  eucher — received  the  stamp 
of  home  approval,  they  may  leave  your  marked-out 
home  restraints  as  surely  as  Hazel  Run  left  its 
quiet  beginning.  Besides,"  she  continued,  "if  there 
were  no  other  reasons,  the  Church  has  labeled 
such  questionable — " 

"The  Church!"  Margaret  broke  in  vehemently, 
"such  restrictions  are  obsolete,  behind  the  times. 
Are  you  the  only  right  interpreter  of  the  Church? 
Dr.  Heron's  children  will  attend  this  school,  so  will 
Judge  Gibson's,  and  what  would  the  Church  do 
without  them  when  it  came  to  meets  its  financial 
obligations?  " 

"  Deny — "  but  Rachel's  rejoinder  was  cut  short 
by  the  return  of  her  husband  with  Mr.  Newton. 

These  had  lingered  to  discuss  the  site  of  the  new 
house,  the  stone  for  whose  foundation  already  hav- 
ing been  hauled,  and  which  "was  to  be  begun  as 
soon  as  the  summer's  work  was  lain  by. 

As  they  lingered,  too,  they  had  talked  earnestly 
of  the  gathering  war  cloud  now  about  bursting  over 
the  land.  Like  an  electric  shock  but  a  few  weeks 
before,  pale  lips  had  passed  on  from  one  to  the 


52.  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

other  the  sentence,  "  Sumpter  has  been  fired  upon! rr 
And  even  now  as  these  two  old  friends  talked, 
came  the  awakening  martial  strains  of  drum  and 
fife,  and  close  behind  the  hurried  tramp  of  an  army 
which  had  sprung  as  if  by  magic  from  the  work- 
shop and  the  farm.  The  very  first  tocsin  had  been 
strangely  thrilling  to  John  Stevenson.  But  yester- 
day at  a  mammoth  "pole  raising,"  he  had  been  one 
to  float  to  the  breeze  at  Burton  a  bright  new  flag, 
and  not  one  in  the  crowd  would  have  guessed  that 
the  still,  quiet  man  who  so  steadily  adjusted  the 
fluttering  ensign,  was  longing  to  snatch  it  and  rush 
to  the  front  of  the  battle. 

"I  must  buy  up  all  the  grain  I  can,"  said  William 
Newton.  "  There  are  going  to  be  heavy  demands." 
Through  such  different  glasses  did  these  two  men 
view  their  country's  needs!  Then,  after  a  moment's 
thought,  William  Newton  bent  over  and  asked  the 
other  a  quesiion,  and  that  other  answering  a  little 
confusedly,  said,  "after  Rachel  and  I  have  talked  it 
over."  Then  turning  they  entered  the  house,  inter- 
rupting, as  we  have  seen,  the  discussion  between 
Rachel  and  Margaret.  Once  there  the  all-absorb- 
ing "  war  talk  "  became  general,  and  continued  till 
the  departure  of  the  guests. 

"  Mother,  I  want  to  join  that  dancing  class,"  was 
the  announcement  Louise  startled  her  mother  with 
as  they  were  busy  about  the  evening's  work. 

"What  do  you  know  of  the  dancing  class?" 
asked  her  mother,  in  order  to  gain  a  little  time. 


CHARACTER  STUDY.  53 

Then  it  came  out  that  both  Marie  and  Richard  had 
painted  in  plowing  colors  the  pleasures  and  advan- 
tages of  the  school. 

"And  mother,  Mildred  Gibson  and  Will  Herron 
are  going  and  I  want  " — "  to  do  something  because 
^ome  one  else  does?"  queried  her  mother.  Then 
tenderlv,  lovingly  she  went  over  with  her  daughter 
the  reasons  why  she  did  not  wish  her  to  do  this. 
But  it  was  not  easy  for  Louise  to  give  up  that  upon 
which  she  had  set  her  heart,  and  only  on  account  of 
the  habit  of  obedience  that  she  at  length  became 
willing  to  yield  her  will  and  trust  to  the  judgment 
of  her  mother. 

The  conversations  of  the  dav  show  in  what 
different  directions  the  children  of  the  two  families 
are  started.  Both  in  the  same  church,  yet  with 
what  different  feelings  are  they  taught  to  regard  its 
obligation.  In  one  its  restrictions  are  considered 
irksome,  which  are  to  be  ignored  or  condemned  as 
foolish;  in  the  other,  these  are  shown  by  the  tender 
voice  of  the  mother  and  the  no  less  kindly  counsel 
of  the  father,  to  be  at  least  safe  and  in  the  end 
helpful.  In  the  one  -  self  gratification  had  been 
eschewed  from  the  cradle,  and  the  happiness  of 
living  for  others  enforced  by  precept  and  example; 
in  the  other  usually,  a  want  was  but  to  be  made 
known  to  be  gratified. 

But  outside  of  the  parents  there  was  yet  another 
molding  force  at  work.  In  the  Newton  home  stood 
an  elegant  book  case  filled  with  well-bound  books, 


54  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

really  a  good  selection,  too.  There  were  books  of 
travel,  most  of  the  poets,  handbooks  on  some  of  the 
sciences,  and  a  few  cumbrous  volumes  of  history, 
yet  they  stood  so  prim  and  methodical  one  knew  at 
a  glance  they  had  been  read  but  a  little.  It  was 
true,  the  Nevvtons  had  never  been  a  "reading  fam- 
ily;" that  is,  there  was  no  regularity  in  their  literary 
habits.  There  were  the  books,  perhaps  first  one 
member  of  the  family  and  then  another  would  take 
down  a  volume  and  browse  as  fancy  might  dictate, 
but  it  remains  a  fact  that  to  arouse  an  interest  in  a 
book  it  must  become  a  family  affair,  be  read  aloud 
— at  least  its  choicest  passages — and  discussed. 

Yet  this  implies  a  certain  amount  of  leisure,  an 
unknown  factor  in  the  city  home,  for  business 
claimed  the  father,  and  on  most  evenings,  society 
the  mother.  Indeed  wilh  the  years  each  child 
came  to  have  its  "engagements,"  so  that  few  even- 
ings found  the  entire  family  home.  Yet,  they  read! 
Ask  Marie  and  Therese!  Under  their  pillows, 
stored  away  in  their  drawers,  were  novels  of  the 
most  sensational  type  which  they  had  learned  to 
devour.  Alas  for  the  hurry  ;-alas  that  at  this  form- 
ative period  of  their  lives,  there  had  not  been  one 
with  leisure  and  inclination,  whose  pleasure  it  might 
have  been  to  open  to  them  the  great  field  of 
thought  which  would  have  broadened  and  deepened 
them,  and  perhaps  bound  them  with  silken  fetters 
to  the  Church  of  God.  Had  there  been  one  such 
what  sorrow  might  have  been  averted. 


CHARACTER  STUDY.  55- 

The  reader  already  knows  that  in  the  other  home 
with  which  we  have  to  do,  humble  though  it  was, 
books  and  papers  had  from  its  founding  been  a 
strong  factor.  The  impress  of  these  has  been  seen 
in  the  father  and  mother.  It  is  becoming  quite  as 
visible  in  the  children.  Louise  would  not  have  so 
readily  yielded  in  the  matter  of  the  dancing  school 
had  not  her  young  heart  been  loyal  to  the  church r 
made  so,  largely,  by  the  books,  magazines  and 
papers  which  had  recorded  its  triumphs,  as  well  as 
the  devotion  of  its  servants*  Indeed,  even  the  par- 
ents did  not  suspect  the  depth  of  this  silent,  con- 
stant influence. 

***** 

Night  had  fallen  upon  the  sunshiny  anniversary. 
The  children  of  the  farmhouse,  worn  out  by  a  day 
of  unusual  pleasure  slept  soundly,  but  the  parents 
lingered  to  talk  over  the  events  of  the  day,  a  sur- 
prising one  of  which  Rachel  now  learned,  was  the 
confidential  request  of  William  Newton  that  inas- 
much as  he  desired  a  sum  of  money  to  invest  in  the 
immediate  purchase  of  grain  to  meet  the  extraordi- 
nary demand  sure  to  be  made,  John  should  become 
surety  for  the  same.  The  idea  was  not  relished  by 
either,  as  anything  savoring  of  debt  was  peculiarly 
distasteful,  but  there  could  be  no  danger,  both 
agreed,  for  Newton's  far-seeing  business  instinct 
had  become  almost  a  proverb. 

Rachel  regretted  the  growing  estrangement 
which  the  day's  conversation  had  indicated.  Might 


56  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

not  this  be  an  opportunity  to  bridge  over  the  grow- 
ing chasm? 

"  Yes,  it  had  better  be  done,"  was  the  decision. 
This  settled,  the  conversation  drifted  back  to  the 
threatened  war;  its  probable  length  and  extent  was 
discussed.  Suddenly  there  flashed  upon  Rachel  a 
realization  of  the  heartache  all  this  meant.  In  her 
mental  vision  she  saw  the  sad  farewells  of  husbands 
and  wives,  the  going  cut  of  brave  young  boys  who 
had  been  the  joy  of  home.  Was  it  strange  a  wave 
of  thankfulness  that  her  eldest  was  so  young? 
Arising,  she  went  softly  to  the  bed  where  Asbury 
lay  sleeping  and  gently  kissed  his  forehead.  "  No 
my  treasures  are  not  demanded,"  she  softly  said. 

Oh,  blind  Rachel!  Was  there  nothing  to  whisper 
aught  to  you  of  the  battle  waging  in  the  faithful 
heart  so  near  you?  Can  you  not  read  the  dumb 
agony  written  in  the  eyes,  that  just  now  are  so 
-curiously  watching  you. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE  WAR AN  ACCIDENT LOUISE  AND  RICHARD. 

HE  next  few  months  slipped  by  with  startling 
rapidity.  On  the  farm  heavy  crops  had  been 
harvested,  and  lumber  was  ready  for  the  new 
house,  which  John  seemed  strangely  loth  to  begin. 
At  the  mill,  William's  prophecy  had  been  fulfilled. 
The  business  had  certainly  quadrupled.  Instead  of 
the  war  cloud  blowing  over,  as  many  had  hoped,  it 
gathered  in  intensity.  And  in  these  first  few 
months  the  Nation  seemed  in  the  throes  of  dissolu- 
tion, as  news  of  continued  defeats  flew  northward. 
This  became  the  absorbing  topic — all  else  dropped 
into  insignificance. 

One  evening  in  the  early  Autumn,  John  SteA'en- 
son  sat  reading  the  "  Daily  "  which,  in  these  troub- 
lous times  had  suddenly  grown  to  be  a  household 
necessity.  Suddenly  he  threw  it  aside,  with  the 
remark,  "Another  call  for  volunteers."  Something 
in  his  voice  caught  his  wife's  ear.  In  a  moment 
she  was  by  his  side,  her  arms  about  him.  "You — 
you —  surely  you  don't  think — "  but  she  could  not 
5 


58  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

finish — only  to  gasp,  "Oh!  the  children!"  Gently 
he  told  of  his  long  struggle,  how  duty  seemed  urg- 
ing, nay  driving  him  to  the  front.  "And  what  a 
coward!  How  the  children,  and  even  yourself, 
would  have  a  right  to  hlush  for  me  if  I  failed  my 
country  in  this  supreme  hour  of  need."  As  he 
talked,  his  face  lighted  and  glowed  with  the  thrill 
of  patriotism,  and  with  breaking  heart,  and  ready 
intuition,  Rachel  perceived  how  useless  would  be 
a  protest  against  his  heart  convictions. 

For  answer,  she  silently  bowed  her  head  upon  his 
breast.  With  a  lightning-like  flash  she  saw  the 
weary  years  ahead.  No  more  sweet  counsel  to- 
gether. Upon  her  alone  must  rest  that  burden. 
Somehow,  she  must  take  upon  herself  the  manage- 
ment of  the  farm.  And  then — Oh,  dreadful  thought 
— so  many  had  marched  off  never  to  come  back. 
They  had  died  in  battle,  on  the  wearisome  marchr 
or  of  wasting  disease  in  hospitals. 

Could  she  stand  it?  Ought  she  to?  Ah,  but 
there  was  the  bleeding  Nation  and  its  strong,  iron 
willed  President  calling  for  brave  men. 

Other  women's  hearts  were  breaking;  why  not 
hers?  She  lifted  her  head,  and  her  husband  knew 
her  heart  had  said  "Aye." 

A  few  days  later  at  the  supper  table  William 
Newton  announced  "John  has  enlisted."  He  and 
his  wife  talked  much  of  the  unwisdom  of  the  actr 
but  in  the  heart  of  each,  there  was  a  respect  for  the 
brave  soldier  which  neither  cared  to  acknowledge 


THE  WAK.  59 

to  the  other.  "  His  regiment  is  about  full  and  he 
will  go  to  the  front  in  another  week,"  Newton 
added  as  he  left  the  room. 

How  readily  we  adjust  ourselves  to  the  inevitable! 
A  week  ago  the  sun  had  shown  so  brightly  and  as 
Rachel  remembered,  in  a  dazed  kind  of  way,  she 
had  been  so  happy  when  Asbury  had  come  home 
from  the  Academy  but  a  little  while  ago,  and  an- 
nounced his  promotion,  as  a  reward  for  some  extra 
study  he  had  been  doing.  Could  such  a  small 
thing  ever  make  her  happy  again?  With  hardly  a 
sigh  the  plans  for  the  new  house  were  given  up. 
So  does  a  greater  grief  absorb  our  lesser  ones. 

The  last  few  days  were  given  to  the  hurried 
preparation  of  some  articles  necessary  for  the  com- 
fort of  the  dear  one.  At  first  the  grief  of  the  chil- 
dren knew  no  bounds.  Asbury,  proud  in  his 
seventeen  years,  begged  to  accompany  his  father; 
but  no — the  mother  was  firm — that  sacrifice  had 
not  been  demanded  of  her. 

Louise  went  to  bed  dreaming  of  hospitals,  band- 
ages and  of  broken  limbs.  Could  the  mother  have 
looked  into  that  warm  impulsive  heart,  she  would 
have  been  surprised  at  the  ambitious  plans  brood- 
ing there.  As  for  Ruth,  it  was  touching  to  watch 
her  as  she  silently  followed  her  father  about  the 
house,  watching  an  opportunity  to  slip  her  hand 
in  his,  or  cuddle  in  his  lap.  They  had  always  been 
peculiarly  knit  together,  and  for  them  the  parting 
promised  to  be  hard. 


60  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

On  the  da}*  following  his  decision,  he  was  sur- 
prised while  at  the  barn  to  hear  childish  sobs  above 
him.  With  a  swift,  silent  step  he  reached  the  mow: 
there  prone  on  the  hay  lay  little  Ruth.  "  Father, 
Oh,  father!  we  will  die  without  you!"  he  heard  her 
sob.  In  a  moment  he  had  gathered  her  to  his  arms 
and  tenderly,  as  though  she  had  been  older,  he  ex- 
plained the  grave  needs  of  the  hour,  then  added, 
"And  my  little  girl  may  help  by  praying  each  day 
and  night  for  my  return."  After  this  there  were 
no  tears,  but  the  faithful  little  body  followed  him 
like  a  shadow. 

The  last  week  slipped  bv — surely  never  had  a 
week  hurried  so.  The  last  morning  dawned,  clear, 
bright,  beautiful.  As  Rachel  mechanically  opened 
the  blinds  she  noticed  as  much,  and  that  the  earlv 
frosts  were  scattering  the  leaves  from  the  great 
elm.  Already  there  seemed  a  pathos  in  the  tossing 
of  the  bare  limbs.  "It  is  as  well,"  she  murmured 
to  herself,  "  Let  them  toss  and  moan  if  they  will  as 
Winter's  blasts  fall  upon  them."  "  'Tis  but  a  type 
of  life's  emptiness." 

John  was  to  leave  before  noon,  and  before  the 
home  adieus  were  said  he  went  mechanically  to  the 
barn,  ostensibly  for  a  last  word  with  the  hired  man, 
but  in  reality  to  take  leave  of  the  animals  that 
for  so  long  had  been  a  part  of  his  life.  Black  Nell 
that  had  faithfully  helped  to  draw  the  great  wagon 
westward  so  long  ago  was  no  more,  but  Princess, 
her  daughter  and  counterpart,  stood  contentedly  in 


AN  ACCIDENT.  61 

her  stall,  and  gave  a  low  whinny  of  recognition 
and  rubbed  her  nose  against  the  arm  of  her  master. 
But  time  was  passing,  and  voices  on  the  outside 
were  calling.  John  paused  a  moment  at  the  stall  of 
"  Superb,"  a  great  stallion  noted  alike  for  his 
strength  and  at  times  for  his  viciousness.  Why 
does  he  chafe  so?  What  is  that  about  his  hoof? 
Ah,  in  his  pawing  he  has  loosed  a  board,  and  see, 
a  nail  has  been  thrust  in  the  hoof.  To  see  anything 
wrong,  with  John  Stevenson,  was  but  to  try  to 
remedy  it,  so  with  a  "  Stand  still,  there,  Superb," 
he  entered  the  stall  and  stooped  to  adjust . 

It  was  well  that  the  man  who  was  to  help  on  the 
farm  opened  the  barn  door  just  then,  for  a  sharp 
moan  went  up,  then  all  was  still.  A  few  minutes 
later  Rachel  saw  them  bearing  a  still  burden  straight 
to  her  door.  Five  minutes  later  Black  Princess  was 
galloping  rapidly  to  Burton  for  medical  help. 
Rachel's  husband  was  seriously  injured  if  not  killed, 
and  as  he  lay  back  upon  the  pillows  it  looked  the 
latter.  Outside  the  door  were  grouped  the  fright- 
ened children.  Asbury  had  flown  to  Burton  for  the 
doctor.  Louise  had  grasped  little  Rose,  and  not 
knowing  what  she  did,  began  humming  a  nursery 
ditty.  Poor  Rachel,  utterly  stunned,  with  a  heart 
that  seem£d  suddenly  to  have  become  lead,  walked 
first  to  the  bed,  then  to  the  door  to  look  anxiously 
down  the  highway  towards  Burton. 

The  jaunty  blue  soldier's  cap  lay  on  the  floor 
where  it  had  dropped  from  the  improvised  litter. 


62  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Mechanically  she  picked  it  up,  and  there  rushed  in 
upon  her  a  realization  of  what  was  to  have  been, 
and  what  was. 

But  it  was  left  for  Ruth — timid  yet  practical 
Ruth — to  go  softly  to  the  bed,  rub  the  cold  hands 
and  bathe  the  brow  till  a  low  moan  told  that  he  yet 
lived. 

The  physician  gravely  shook  his  head.  One  cruel 
stroke  of  the  great  hoofs  had  broken  a  limb,  while 
another  had  injured  the  spine,  it  could  not  be  told 
how  seriously.  For  a  week  the  father  lay  between 
life  and  death,  and  while  he  so  lay,  the  "Company" 
that  was  to  have  been  his  marched  away.  Two 
days  before  their  departure  Rachel  went  to  William 
Newton  and  handing  him  a  roll  of  bills  said,  "If  my 
husband  lives  he  cannot  go.  To  do  so  was  his 
heart's  desire.  Take  this  money — we  had  saved 
it  for  a  new  house — get  two  "substitutes"  in  his 
place;  the  Country  needs  them,  and  the  log  house 
will  do."  Brave,  patriotic  Rachel !  There  were 
thousands  like  her.  Can  we  of  a  younger  genera- 
tion ever  appreciate  the  sacrifices  of  those  terrible 
days? 

***** 

It  was  found  that  John  Stevenson  would  not  die. 
He  would  live,  for  a  time  at  best,  a  semi-invalid. 

While  he  is  being  nursed  back  to  health  we  must 
again  look  in  upon  the  young  people,  and  another 
visit  to  the  Newton  home  becomes  necessary. 

It  has  been  seen  that  the  older  ones  of  each  fam- 


LOUISE  AND  RICHARD.  63 

ily  were  in  the  Academy.  But  teachers  and  pa- 
rents found  it  hard  to  hold  the  young  mind  down  to 
study.  Outside  was  the  roll  of  drums,  and  "news 
from  the  front"  was  the  all  absorbing  topic.  In  all  this 
as  a  matter  of  course,  the  boys  became  intensely  in- 
terested. In  every  village,  town  and  hamlet,  "Com- 
panies" were  formed,  a  captain  chosen,  and  the 
"common"  became  a  drill  ground  where  youthful 
patriotism  huzzaed  itself  hoarse.  Burton  had  its 
Company,  and  after  its  marches  and  countermarches, 
usually  its  young  Captain  would  be  led  to  a  goods 
box  from  which  with  youthful  fervor  he  would 
orate  upon  the  day's  struggle.  This,  was  Richard 
Newton,  who  seemed  born  for  leadership.  Hearing 
the  huzza  even  the  busy  William  Newton  would 
smile,  for  his  "dream  "  lay  in  his  handsome  boyish 
faced  Richard.  The  late  investments  of  this  man 
of  business  had  surprised  even  himself  by  their 
quick  returns,  but  he  found  fortune  a  stern  mistress. 
He  must  make  no  reservations  if  he  would  serve 
her.  When  his  soul  rebelled  at  the  bonds  he  would 
comfort  himself  saying,  "  The  strain  will  soon  be 
over.  I  shall  have  amassed  a  great  fortune  and 
then — ."  His  wife,  always  a  doting  mother,  as  she 
perceived  Richard  and  Marie  slipping  into  manhood 
and  womanhood,  determined  that  they  should  have 
every  advantage  that  money  and  social  position 
could  procure. 

The  young  people  of  Burton  had  learned  to  love 
the  great  roomy  parlor  and  spacious  dining  room 


64  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

beyond,  for  in  them,  charming  evenings  had  been 
spent,  now  in  the  "  harmless "  parlor  dance,  no\v 
at  the  low  whist  tables;  both  Richard  and  Marie 
had  become  skillful  players  at  the  last.  When  the 
proper  hour  would  arrive,  Margaret,  the  gracious 
hostess,  and  Marie,  daintily  gowned,  would  serve 
the  refreshments. 

The  Newton  grounds  boasted  many  trellises  of 
the  choicest  grapes,  and  under  the  supervision  of 
the  mistress  herself,  each  year  casks  of  home-made 
wines  were  stored  in  the  cellar,  which  were  drawn 
upon  for  these  same  refreshments,  and  usually  it 
was  Marie's  own  hand  that  poured  the  rich  liquid. 
Yes,  what  with  music,  dancing,  cards  and  wine,  the 
evenings  did  pass  gaily. 

It  is  true  some  parents  shook  their  heads,  but 
then  "  the  Newtons  were  so  eminently  respectable.'* 
Besides,  Mrs.  Newton  was  a  known  society  leader 
and  as  such  was  often  heard  to  express  her  strong 
disapproval  of  public  dances,  only  could  they  be 
allowed  in  the  parlors  of  home  or  friends.  When 
one  suggested  that  "cards"  belonged  by  right  to 
the  saloon  or  brothel,  her  reply  was,  "boys  had 
better  learn  at  home,  so  there  would  be  no  tempta- 
tion to  assail  them  when  they  were  out  in  the  world." 
"As  for  wine,"  here  her  lip  would  curl  comtemptu- 
ously,  "as  if  one  could  not  control  their  appetite! 
It  would  be  a  weak  person  indeed  who  could  not 
sip  a  glass  of  home-made  wine  without  becoming  a 
drunkard."  Yet  even  now,  could  she  have  caught 


LOUISE  AND  RICHARD.  6t> 

the  whisper,  it  was  beginning  to  be  said  outside  the 
home  that  the  handsome  son  of  this  woman  who 
felt  so  sure  of  the  correctness  of  her  views,  was 
already  becoming  too  fond  of  his  cups. 

Margaret  Newton  prided  herself  upon  the  fact 
that  she  was  "  progressive."  It  was  a  favorite  say- 
ing of  hers  that  "we  ought  not  to  try  to  hold  our 
young  people  down  to  the  notions  of  half  a  century 
ago,  and  as  for  the  church'!  well,  if  the  church 
would  hold  its  young  people,  let  //  modernize." 

It  was  strange  that  among  the  molding  influences 
that  shaped  this  family,  the  contents  of  the  hand- 
somely carved  bookcase  did  not  exert  a  greater  in- 
fluence. Strange,  too,  that  among  all  the  elegantly 
bound  books  there  was  such  an  utter  absence  of 
any  specifically  religious.  No,  not  strange,  if  we 
recall  the  elder  Richard  Allen  and  his  seed-sowing,, 
and  the  truth  that  the  harvest  is  greater  than  the 
sowing. 

But  among  the  young  people  of  Burton  there  was- 
one  family  whose  young  people  had  no  part  in  these 
social  evenings  at  the  Newtons.  We  say  "young 
people  of  Burton,"  for  though  the  Stevenson  farm  lay 
two  miles  distant,  yet  so  closely  were  the  inmates 
associated  with  the  church  and  school,  indeed  with 
all  the  interests  of  the  town,  that  for  all  practical  pur- 
poses they  were  a  part  of  it. 

From  the  anniversary  day,  when  Rachel  Steven- 
son had  so  clearly  expressed  her  convictions,  it  had 
been  understood  that  while  at  other  times  the 


66  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Stevenson  boys  and  girls  were  glad  to  be  at  "Aunt 
Margaret's,"  on  these  social  evenings  they  would  be 
absent.  With  Asbury  and  Louise,  who  were  but 
wide-awake,  fun  loving  young  people,  there  was  at 
times  not  a  little  dissatisfaction  over  this  decision, 
but  from  babyhood  they  had  been  taught  to  obey, 
so  in  this  they  yielded  to  the  judgment  of  father  and 
mother.  But  upon  Richard,  accustomed  to  have 
his  own  way,  this  decision  fell  the  hardest,  for  from 
the  days  when  he  and  Louise  had  played  at  house- 
keeping beneath  the  elms  she  had  been  his  com- 
rade, his  boyish  ideal,  nor  had  dawning  manhood 
changed  this,  and  to  be  thus  preemptorily  deprived 
of  his.  old-time  playmate  was  unendurable.  But 
Mrs.  Stevenson  remained  firm,  so  while  the  New- 
ton's danced  in  their  lovely  parlors,  making  the 
evenings  gay  with  laughter  and  song,  Louise,  As- 
bury and  Ruth  took  turns  in  reading  aloud  to  their 
invalid  father,  or  studied  the  lessons  for  the 
morrow. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


ACADEMY    LIFE    AND    HOME    EVENINGS. 

'HESE  were  months  of  anxiety  and  care  to  the 
Stevensons.  Going  back  to  the  day  when  the 
father  was  carried  in  so  nearly  dead,  the 
broken  limb  easily  healed,  but  continued  excruci- 
ating pain  revealed  the  fact  that  a  serious  injury  to 
the  back  had  occurred,  and  it  was  months  before  it 
was  known  that  he  would  ever  again  walk.  Twice 
came  the  sowing,  and  twice  the  reaping,  before  he 
was  able  to  creep  forth,  leaning  upon  his  staff,  seem- 
ingly an  old  man. 

During  these  months  of  his  invalidism  Rachel 
suddenly  found  herself  face  to  face  with  several 
problems,  which  unlike  all  others  which  had  arisen 
could  not  be  settled  by  mutual  counsel.  One  the 
question  of  the  farm  management,  another  involved 
in  that  one  was,  should  Asbury  and  Louise  remain 
in  the  Academy?  Each  was  strong  and  well  built. 
Would  it  not  be  wise  to  have  their  help  at  home 
during  this  emergency?  For  the  first  few  weeks 
after  the  accident,  while  the  others  slept,  she,  wide 


68  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

awake,  turned  over  each  side  of  this  question,  which 
she  felt  must  be  settled  for  the  future  rather  than 
for  the  present. 

"No"  she  finally  said,  "they  must  remain  in 
school  at  all  hazards."  So  the  trusty  farm  hand 
who  was  to  have  staid  during  her  husbands  absence 
at  the  front,  was  retained.  The  younger  boys  were 
now  sturdy  lads,  and  these  with  Ruth  became  more 
than  ever  their  mother's  helpers,  remaining  at  home 
during  the  first  winter,  reserving  though,  certain 
hours  for  study  and  recitation  to  either  Asbury  or 
Louise.  This  seemed  a  necessity,  for  the  invalid 
required  the  almost  constant  care  of  his  wife.  Out- 
side of  school  hours  Asbury  and  Louise  lent  willing 
hands,  but  they  were  nearing  the  final  years  of  the 
academical  course,  and  their  studies  required  much 
time;  besides,  it  was  her  father's  earnest  wish  that 
Louise  should  devote  as  much  of  her  time  as  possi- 
ble to  music.  Her  voice,  a  rich  mezzo  soprano,  had 
about  it  an  indescribable  touch  of  pathos  which 
s:rangely  touched  the  hearts  of  all  who  heard  her 
sing.  Richard  Newton,  it  may  be  said,  sang  too — 
a  deep,  musical  tenor — and  sometimes  as  these  well 
chorded  voices  rang  out  together  from  the  plain 
sitting  room  a  curious  fear  stnote  Rachel's  heart 
and  unconsciously  she  found  herself  paraphrasing 
Rebekah's  old  lament,  "What  sorrow  to  my  soul, 
if  my  daughter  take  a  husband  of  the  sons  of  Heth." 
But  she  brushed  it  aside.  "  They  are  but  children 
and  have  played  together  from  the  cradle." 


ACADEMY  LIFE  AND  HOME  E VENINQS.          69 

So  with  work,  with  planning  and  with  some 
anxieties  the  days  of  John  Stevenson's  invalidism 
went  by. 

"  Rachel,"  said  he  one  day,  while  he  was  still  in 
the  bed,  "has  Newton  ever  said  whether  or  no  the 
note  for  which  I  became  security  has  been  paid?  " 

"No;  but  I  must  go  in  to  Burton  this  afternoon. 
I  will  see  him."  An  hour  later  she  was  interview- 
ing the  rich  owner  of  perhaps  the  most  prosperous 
mills  in  all  western  Illinois. 

Now,  while  the  investment  for  which  Newton  had 
borrowed  the  money  had  proven  successful,  still 
there  had  been  so  many  wonderful  "openings,"  the 
sum  had  been  reinvested  again  and  again.  Just 
now  it  was  out,  but  next  week  it  would  lie  in  the 
bank  and  a  stroke  of  his  pen  would  cancel  the  note. 
This  much  he  explained  to  Rachel.  "  But  I  would 
rather  it  was  paid,"  said  her  husband  when  the 
message  was  given  him,  "  go  to  him  again,  and  tell 
him  I  cannot  allow  my  name  to  remain  longer." 
His  long  confinement  was  telling  on  his  nerves, 
Rachel  thought,  still  this  message  was  taken  and 
William  Newton  bowed  in  acquiescence  and  John 
felt  a  relief,  as  did  Rachel,  that  it  was  "settled." 

During  the  last  winter  of  the  convalescence,  an 
event  occurred  which  on  account  of  its  bearing  up- 
on the  two  families  must  not  fail  of  being  chronicled. 
A  great  religious  awakening  occurred.  Beginning 
in  the  church  where  our  friends  worshipped,  it 
spread  throughout  the  city.  Its  effects  were  won- 


70  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

clerful  in  the  Academy,  nearly  the  entire  school  be- 
ing converted. 

With  the  Stevensons,  each  child  had  in  their 
infancy  been  presented  for  baptism,  and  later  on, 
after  careful  instructions  in  church  doctrines  and 
usages,  had  been  received  into  full  membership  in 
accordance  with  the  plan  of  their  church.  To 
neither  of  these  children  had  it  occurred  that  any- 
thing further  was  necessary.  Yet  again  and  again 
came  the  reiterated  message  from  the  lips  of  the 
earnest  preacher,  "Ye  must  be  born  again,"  follow- 
ed by  the  strange  altar  scenes,  where  amid  tears, 
prayers  and  songs,  a  face  would  suddenly  brighten 
and  glowing  with  a  strange  light,  would  exclaim, 
"  It  is  finished!  " 

Louise  had  never  doubted  but  that  she  was  a 
child  of  God,  as  indeed  she  was,  yet  she  was  the 
first  among  her  brothers  and  sisters  to  feel  the  need 
of  something  which  as  yet  she  had  not  possessed, 
and  in  her  own  impulsive  way,  without  a  word  to 
the  home  folks,  she  knelt  at  the  altar  where  she 
poured  out  her  young  soul  in  prayer.  Presently  a 
strange  peace  stole  into  her  heart.  She  remained 
yet  a  little  while  upon  her  knees,  then  arose  with 
the  joy  born  of  the  conciousness  of  Christ  Spirit 
within  illuminating  her  face. 

Oh,  young,  impulsive,  warm  hearted  Louise! 
could  you  have  seen  the  weary  years  and  heartaches 
ahead,  the  heavy  trials  that  await  you,  the  work  He 
has  for  you,  you  might  perhaps  have  lingered  longer 


.  ACADEMY  LIFE  AND  HOME  EVENINGS.          71 

to  pray  that  through  it  all  this  new  found  joy  and 
peace  might  always  be  yours. 

It  was  a  matter  of  comment  between  the  father 
and  mother  during  these  meetings  that  Asbury  took 
little  or  no  interest  in  them.  For  awhile  he  had 
been  regular  in  his  attendance,  but  finally  contrived 
to  stay  away  upon  one  pretext  or  another.  One 
night,  after  the  family  had  come  home  from  church 
and  had  fallen  asleep,  Rachel  was  awakened  by  a 
noise  in  the  little  bed  room  where  Asbury  slept,  and 
a  voice  calling,  "  Father,  mother,  come  here!  "  Each 
hastened  with  a  fear  of  sudden  illness.  What  was 
their  surprise  to  find  Asbury  up  and  dressed,  and 
in  tear S,  and  to  be  met  with  the  exclamation,  "I 
must  have  this  question  of  Salvation  settled  now." 

With  tender  and  tactful  inquiries  both  parents 
sought  to  find  the  difficulty.  Born,  and  baptized,, 
and  brought  up  in  the  Church,  taking  a  delight  in  her 
worship,  well  read  in  her  literature,  grounded  in 
her  doctrines,  still  there  was  a  hungering  in  the  soul, 
a  burden  on  the  heart.  The  hortatory  style  of  the 
preacher  had  aroused  a  conviction  of  personal  un- 
worthiness.  For  weeks  the  burden  had  grown 
heavier,  till  now  it  was  unbearable.  Fortunately, 
from  earliest  childhood  religious  talks  between  chil- 
dren and  parents  had  been  common,  so  there  was 
none  of  that  shrinking  timidity  which  at  such  times 
frequently  drives  the  seeker  to  some  other  than  the 
family.  Grasping  the  situation  at  once,  the  father 
got  his  Bible,  and  both  he  and  the  mother  began  to- 


72  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

point  out  the  Scriptures,  making  plain  the  wondrous 
plan  of  salvation,  showing  that  there  must  always 
be  an  individual  surrender,  a  giving  up  of  self,  an 
acceptance  of  Christ  as  a  personal  Savior. 

Suddenly  there  came  an  illumination  of  the  mind. 
The  wondrous  simplicity  of  it  all  dawned  upon  the 
struggling  youth,  and  while  his  mother's  voice  was 
going  up  to  the  throne,  he  exclaimed, "  I  see  it  all !  " 

"The  great  transaction  done, 
I  am  the  Lord's,  and  he  is  mine.'' 

And  now  it  was  John  and  Rachel  Stevenson's 
turn  to  be  surprised.  Could  this  be  their  quiet  and 
reticent  boy,  who  with  beaming  face  was  shouting 
aloud,  praising  God  till  the  brown  old  rafters  fairly 
shook  with  the  echo? 

Old-fashioned?  Yes,  perhaps;  but  it  was  that 
blessed  old-fashion  that  throughout  the  ages  has 
made  the  church  strong  and  stalwart,  that  has  im- 
planted and  nourished  such  clear  convictions  of 
right  and  wrong,  that  at  a  word  armies  have  sprung 
into  existence  to  do  battle  for  the  right.  The  old- 
fashion  that  has  sent  pioneer  preachers  and  teachers 
to  the  western  desert  till  it  has  blossomed  as  the 
rose,  has  sent  out  missionaries  till  from  heathen 
lands  news  is  wafted  of  a  nation  being  born  in  a 
day. 

And  quite  as  necessary  as  any  of  these  seemingly 
greater  results,  has  planted  in  every  church,  no 
matter  how  humble,  those  who  uncomplainingly 


ACADEMY  LIFE  AND  HOME  EVENINGS.          T.\ 

become  the  burden-bearers,  and  in  their  daily  lives 
are  l.ving  witnesses  of  their  Master's  power  to  save. 

During  the  remaining  weeks  of  the  meeting  none 
were  so  earnest  and  none  more  successful  than 
Asbury  Stevenson. 

Nor  were  the  Newtons  left  unmoved.  Indeed  it 
could  not  have  been  otherwise  with  the  religious 
feeling  so  intense.  Asbury's  conversion  was  hardly 
less  a  source  of  joy  to  the  Stevensons  than  was  that 
of  Richard  Newton.  Indeed,  Rachel  seemed  to 
rejoice  even  more  than  his  mother,  who  said  care- 
lessly, "Of  course  I  knew  the  children  would 
identify  themselves  with  the  church.  Religion  is 
right  and  proper,  but  should  not  be  carried  to  ex- 
tremes." 

It  is  one  of  the  strange  things  which  we  meet 
with  in  life,  that  a  mother  frequently  allows  herself 
to  become  absolutely  blinded  as  to  her  children's 
morals  and  habits.  Now  that  Richard  was  nearing 
manhood  his  mother  did  not  seem  to  notice  that  for 
her  son  the  old  home  evenings  had  lost  their  charm 
and  more  and  more,  upon  one  pretext  and  another, 
he  was  coming  to  spend  these  away  from  home. 
He  usually  made  a  feint  of  going  to  his  father's 
office,  but  there  there  was  but  little  to  interest  him, 
for  he  knew  really  nothing  of  the  business.  Besides 
his  father  in  these  last  few  months  was  growing 
really  nervous  and  irascible,  and  to  wear  a  haggard 
and  worn  look,  and  seemed  ready  to  find  fault,  with 
little  or  no  provocation,  with  his  pleasure-loving  son. 
6 


74  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Yet  if  the  office  atmosphere  was  not  pleasant,, 
there  was  no  need  to  seek  far  for  hearty  goodfellow- 
ship.  Burton  had  changed  rapidly  since  the  old 
clays  of  log  houses  and  stumpy  streets.  It  had  al- 
ready begun  to  ape  metropolitan  airs  in  many  ways,, 
and  alas!  to  reproduce  city  vices  with  startling  ex- 
actness. So  in  brilliantly  lighted  rooms  where  the 
clink  of  glasses  'was  often  heard,  together  with 
coarse  laugh  and  jest,  and  steady  click  of  the  billiard 
balls,  Richard  occasionally  dropped  in  for  an  "even- 
ing." More  than  once  Marie,  whose  room  adjoined 
his,  with  a  pale,  startled  face  had  seen  him  come 
home,  staggering,  maudlin.  Did  she  tell  his  mother? 
No,  for  one  of  the  gifts  of  the  years  to  Mrs.  Newton 
had  been  a  set  of  "  nerves  "  that  absolutely  forbade 
her  being  bothered  with  anything  disagreeable,  so 
Marie  kept  her  grewsome  secret.  Did  Mrs.  New- 
ton know  nothing  of  the  state  of  affairs?  No  one 
could  tell.  Perhaps  pride  kept  her  silent,  but  more 
likely  faith  in  the  Devil's  choicest  saying,  "  Let  him 
alone;  he  must  sow  his  wild  oats." 

Yet  if  his  mother  kept  sealed  lips,  Dame  Rumor 
did  not,  and  it  became  current  among  his  acquaint- 
ances that  "  Young  Newton  was  going  to  the  bad." 
Bits  of  this  rumor  could  not  fail  to  reach  the  Stev- 
enson home.  Here  Louise,  with  the  old  imperious 
stamp  of  her  foot,  declared  it  all  false,  every  word 
of  it.  So  Rachel  carried  a  double  burden — real 
sorrow  over  the  misdeeds  of  one  who  had  grown 
up  as  one  of  her  own  flock,  and  misgivings  about 


ACADEMY  LIFE  AND  HOME  EVENINGS.         75 

the  future  of  that  one  of  hers  who  so  ably  de- 
fended the  sinner.  Therefore  it  was  with  extreme 
satisfaction  the  Stevensons  heard  of  Richard's  con- 
version. 

They  had  yet  to  learn,  as  do  we  all,  that  while 
grace  does  much  for  a  soul,  it  cannot  take  the  place 
of  careful  training,  and  that  the  modern  Christian 
sower  finds,  as  did  the  one  in  Galilee,  that  not  a 
little  of  the  results  of  his  work  withers  away  in  the 
burning  heat  of  every  day  temptation. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


ASBURY  S  DECISION. 

fIGHTEEN  hundred  and  sixty-five!  What 
memories  are  evoked  in  the  hearts  of  many  by 
the  bare  mention  of  this  date!  During  all  these 
months  and  years  since  John  Stevenson's  Company 
had  marched  away  without  him,  the  great  bloodv 
conflict  had  been  waging.  The  Nation  had  lived 
at  fever  heat,  the  ordinary  affairs  of  life  were 
forgotten  in  the  excitement  of  "news  from  the 
front."  Slowly,  though,  within  the  last  few  months 
the  war  cloud  had  been  lifting.  Rumors  of  peace 
were  afloat,  finally  came  the  news  of  Lee's  surren- 
der, and  soon  the  steady  tramp  of  thousands  of  re- 
turning brave  men  shook  the  streets  of  cities  and 
aroused  country  hamlets.  How  the  lusty  cheers 
went  up  from  some  of  these  last,  as  little  groups  of 
bronzed  veterans  came  marching  down  the 
streets.  Usually  the  fleet  telegraph  had  announced 
their  coming  and  then  they  were  welcomed 
by  the  citizens  with  the  wildest  enthusiasm. 
Alas!  that  in  the  midst  of  this  joy  there  should  have 


ASBURY'S  DECISION.  77 

been  so  many  black  robed  figures,  who  wept  be- 
cause not  all  who  had  as  bravely  marched  away, 
came  back.  At  such  times  Rachel  Stevenson's 
heart  ached  for  her  husband,  for  the  pallor  of  his 
face  and  the  tightening  of  the  lips  told  how  great 
the  trial  of  invalidism  instead  of  active  service  had 
been.  Patriotic  as  we  have  seen  the  Stevensons  to 
have  been,  and  therefore  interested  in  the  close  of 
the  war,  still  the  year  was  to  be  fraught  with  events 
of  direst  moment  to  the  family. 

In  June  Asbury  was  to  be  graduated  from  the 
Academy.  It  had'  been  hard  during  the  closing 
years  to  hold  him  down  to  study.  Once  when  a 
specially  urgent  "call"  for  troops  had  come,  he  had  in- 
sisted upon  going.  To  this  his  mother  emphatically 
said  no.  "  You  are  too  young  for  efficient  service" 
she  would  say;  adding  "There  are  just  as  truly 
battle  fields  ahead.  God  would  have  you  prepare 
yourself  that  he  may  use  you  where  He  will." 

As  the  event  of  his  graduation  drew  near,  both 
he  and  his  parents,  each  in  their  way  were  consid- 
ering his  immediate  future. 

It  soon  became  evident  to  the  "home  folks"  that 
Asbury  was  carrying  a  burden.  Like  many  an- 
other mother  Mrs.  Stevenson  had  found  that  there 
is  an  age  when  it  is  not  wise  to  follow  a  boy,  or 
question  him  too  closely;  besides  this  son  of  hers 
had  inherited  from  his  father  a  trait  which  made 
him  more  difficult  of  access — concerning  that  which 
he  felt  most,  he  said  least.  So  daily  she  prayed  for 


78  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

him,  but  felt  he  would  be  stronger  if  some  questions 
were  settled  without  word  of  hers.  One  thing  she 
rejoiced  in  was  that  already,  as  the  result  of  the 
"  college  fund,"  dating  back  to  the  gift  of  the  cows 
when  he  and  Louise  were  each  ten  years  old,  there 
was  now  on  deposit  a  sum  sufficient  to  insure  each 
two  or  three  years  at  a  University.  With  that 
much  secured,  somehow  the  rest  would  come.  So, 
if  he  chose,  a  higher  education — both  her  own  and 
her  husband's  ambition  for  their  children — awaited 
him.  But  to  return  to  Asbury. 

One  day  about  a  month  before  his  graduation  he 
surprised  his  mother  by  coming  home  during  school 
hours.  "Why,  what  is  the  matter;  are  you  sick?" 
queried  his  mother.  "  No,"  and  he  passed  into  his 
room.  That  evening  at  family  prayer,  he  said, 
"  While  we  are  all  together  I  may  as  well  tell  you 
I  have  settled  it."  "Settled  what?"  came  in  chorus 
from  his  brothers  and  sisters.  But  his  mother,  who 
with  an  anxiety  all  unknown  to  her  child,  had 
watched  the  struggle  from  the  beginning,  arose  and 
walked  across  the  room,  and  putting  her  arms  about 
him  said,  "  That  you  are  to  preach  the  Gospel,  is  it 
not?"  For  answer  there  was  a  tightening  of  the 
hand  clasp,  tears  fell  from  his  eyes  and  his  head 
bowed  assent.  Yes  since  the  memorable  night  of 
his  conversion  he  had  carried  about  with  him  the 
constantly  increasing  burden.  "Woe  is  me  if  I 
preach  not  the  gospel."  Now  he  had  rolled  it  off 
in  unquestioning  obedience. 


ASBURYS  DECISION.  79 

How  quickly  affairs  adjust  themselves  to  suit 
new  conditions!  Within  a  week  after  Asbury's  an- 
nouncement, it  had  been  decided  that  after  a  sum- 
mer spent  in  helping  on  the  farm  he  should  enroll 
as  a  student  at  a  University  in  another  state. 

This  University,  in  addition  to  its  excellent  theo- 
logical course,  had  a  comprehensive  course,  open 
alike  to  girls  as  well  as  boys,  and  after  much  con- 
sultation it  was  further  decided  that  Louise  should 
forego  her  last  year  in  the  Academy  and  accom- 
pany him,  but  none  could  tell  whether  or  not  Louise 
was  happy  over  the  arrangement. 

This  being  an  interwoven  history,  we  must  now 
return  to  Richard  Newton. 

For  a  while  after  his  conversion,  already  three 
years  in  the  past,  his  life  had  been  exemplary,  but 
•who  can  estimate  the  force  of  habit,  or  thwart  the 
power  of  molding  influences  in  childhood?  Although 
in  a  sense  he  had  been  brought  up  in  the  church, 
and  had  now  voluntarily  united  with  it,  still  he  was 
almost  entirely  without  reverence  for  it. 

He  had  heard  criticisms  concerning  it,  its  require- 
ments scoffed  at,  disregarded.  Besides  he,  and  his 
sisters  not  less,  while  boastful  of  intelligence  on 
other  matters  and  proud  of  the  cultured  surround- 
ings of  their  home,  were  really  ignorant  in  regard 
to  it.  Its  glorious  past  with  its  splendid  line  of 
achievements  was  utterly  unknown.  As  for  its 
•current  history,  indeed  this  family  knew  less  than 
of  the  most  trivial  political  affairs  in  Europe.  How 


80  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

could  it  be  otherwise  when  the  books  upon  the 
library  shelves  were  of  art,  science,  poetry  and 
fiction,  but  not  religion.  The  magazines  that 
monthly  loaded  their  center  table  were  rich  in 
serials  portraying  society  well,  with  its  loves  and 
hates.  They  often  contained  beautiful  gems  of 
thought,  instructive  articles,  but  of  the  church  they 
were  silent  except  as  some  question  was  discussed 
philosophically. 

Mrs.  Newton  was  an  enthusiast  over  flowers:  her 
windows  glowed  with  green  and  crimson,  even  on 
the  chilliest  day.  How  carefully  she  read  her 
horticultural  magazine  that  gave  her  needed  infor- 
mation. Mr.  Newton  could  not  have  lived,  so  he 
thought,  without  his  favorite  political  paper,  but  in 
all  their  family  life  a  paper  devoted  to  the  church, 
giving  its  current  events  and  general  progress,  dis- 
cussing its  questions  of  interest,  had  not  been  con- 
sidered a  necessity.  So  with  the  father  engrossed 
in  other  matters,  the  mother  with  prejudiced  notions 
concerning  culture  and  society,  it  was  not  strange 
that  these  young  people  in  their  efforts  to  become 
Christians  should  find  great  difficulties. 

Knowing  nothing  of  anything  more,  the  church 
at  Burton  was  to  them  The  Church.  If  Deacon  B. 
deviated  from  the  correct  path;  if  his  wife  were 
shrewish,  or  took  an  undue  interest  in  her  neigh- 
bor's affairs,  this  became  an  argument  against  the 
church.  If  the  little  company  was  more  zealous 
than  cultured,  these  aesthetic  young  people  smiled  in  a 


ASBURY'S  DECISION.  81 

patronizing  way  and  gave  "the  church  "  a  discredit 
mark. 

The  well  read  young  people  of  the  farm  well 
knew  that  back  of  all  these  was  a  long  line  of 
illustrious  scholars,  poets,  statesmen  and  orators 
who  had  been  proud  to  give  their  allegiance  to  this 
same  church. 

Then  there  were  the  habits  of  these  young  people. 
Their  feet  were  nimble  in  the  dance,  their  hands 
skillful  with  cards,  they  loved  the  taste  of  their 
mother's  rich  home  wines,  and  had  been  trained  to 
think  all  this  right.  It  was  little  wonder  that  ere- 
long Marie  and  Therese,  though  retaining  a  nom- 
inal membership,  relapsed  largely  into  the  old  life. 

What  of  Richard?  handsome  Richard.  His  was 
really  a  noble  nature,  and  his  heart  full  of  lofty- 
ideals;  his  ready  wit  and  genial  ways  made  him  a 
popular  comrade.  We  have  seen  him  as  a  boyish 
orator,  firing  the  hearts  of  an  improvised  military 
company.  His  chosen  literature  were  the  great 
speeches  of  Webster,  and  of  Patrick  Henry. 

One  of  the  great  events  of  his  early  boyhood  had 
been  a  debate  which  had  been  held  in  his  native 
town  between  Illinois'  two  great  sons,  Stephen  A. 
Douglas  and  Abraham  Lincoln.  His  father  had 
smiled  at  his  boyish  enthusiasm,  for  he  had  followed 
the  speakers'  every  movement,  had  edged  his  way 
among  the  great  crowd  quite  up  to  where  Lincoln 
stood,  (it  \vas  on  the  stump  of  a  great  tree  in  a 
neighbor's  yard),  and  no  gray  head  drank  in  the 


82  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

keen  cut,  irresistible  logic  more  eagerly  than  he. 
"Ah,  well,"  thought  the  proud  father,  "who  knows 
but  he  too  may  win  honor  and  fame  some  day?" 

Yes;  he  made  a  noble  effort  to  rid  himself  of  the 
habits  he  had  formed.  The  last  two  years  of  his 
academic  life  were  given  to  hard  study.  Such  was 
his  brilliancy  that  he  soon  seemed  to  have  made  up 
for  lost  time,  and  his  teachers  said  "what  a  reforma- 
tion!" They  did  not  know,  nor  did  even  keen-eyed 
Rachel  suspect  the  secret  that,  stronger  even  than 
his  love  to  God,  was  the  growing,  deepening  love 
between  himself  and  Louise,  and  that  by  this 
slender,  silken  cord  this  young  girl  was  drawing  him 
away  from  the  evil  into  a  sincere  desire  for  the 
good. 


Iclclclclcjcltlclc^^^^ 

£< 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  LOVE  AFFAIR  AND  A  MOTHER'S  VIEW  OF  IT. 


the  old  brick  walls  of  Burton  Academy 
loomed  up  that  June  evening  in  the  dusky 
shadow  of  the  moon.  The  trees  in  the  cam- 
pus were  laden  with  their  heaviest  foliage,  and  the 
drooping  branches  cast  shadowy  outlines  upon  the 
winding  walks  over  which  little  groups  of  students, 
mostly  in  twos,  sauntered  in  the  moonlight.  It  was 
commencement  week,  and  the  evening  of  the  col- 
lege social.  The  walk  led  up  quite  near  to  the 
building,  where  it  divided,  leading  up  to  the  two 
entrances,  leaving  a  triangular  bit  of  ground,  filled 
with  the  choicest  flowers.  Just  now  the  air  was 
heavy  with  the  rich  wealth  and  fragrance  of  masses 
of  June  roses.  Among  the  shadows  on  the  great 
stone  steps,  sat  a  young  girl  and  her  companion. 
In  her  lap  lay  a  cluster  of  roses  she  had  gathered  in 
passing,  the  petals  of  which  she  aimlessly  scattered 
as  the  low,  earnest  tones  of  her  companion  fell  in 
sweet  cadence  upon  her  ears. 

It  is  the  old,  yet  ever  new   sweet   story,   which 


84  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

shall  never  lose  its  freshness  till  the  last  son  and 
daughter  of  Adam  has  quitted  this  earth. 

"Listen,  Louise — "  Ah,  it  is  Richard,  eloquent, 
love  stirred  Richard,  who  is  speaking. 

"You  must  hear  me,  for  this  may  be  our  last 
opportunity  together,  for  I  am  sure  your  going  to 
college  is  but  a  plan  to  separate  us.  I  know  too 
well  I  am  not  a  favorite  in  your  home.  How  can 
I  be,  when  our  family  notions  of  life  are  so  differ- 
ent?" And  then  with  all  the  hot,  impassioned  fer- 
vor of  youth  he  pleaded  his  love,  and  for  the  sweet 
promise  that  should  indissolubly  link  their  lives  to- 
gether. 

Little  need,  Richard,  had  you  but  known  it,  for 
all  this  eloquence.  The  treasure  you  seek  is  yours. 
The  link  you  ask  for  has  been  forging  through  the 
long  happy  hours  of  childhood.  The  opening  years 
of  young  manhood  and  young  womanhood  have 
strengthened  it.  Indeed,  who  shall  say  that  in  the 
great  councils  of  your  creation  and  hers  it  was  not 
said,  "  What  God  hath  joined  together  let  not  man 
put  asunder." 

As  his  words  died  away  a  litile  hand  crept  shyly 
into  his.  The  June  breezes  murmured  softly  around 
the  stern  old  walls.  The  flowers  but  a  step  awav 
lightly  touched  their  heads  together  as  if  in  knowl- 
edge of  the  sweet  secret,  but  the  young  pair  were 
silent,  for  vain  are  words  to  voice  the  tumult  of  a 
soul. 

They  could  linger  but  a  little  while,  for  during 


A  LOVE  AFFAIR.  85 

the  evening  Louise  was  to  sing.  Poor  Louise! 
How  could  she  face  the  audience?  Surely  her 
precious  secret  must  be  read  by  everyone,  and  it 
was  in  a  strange,  bewildering  maze  of  happiness 
with  which  presently  she  joined  with  Richard  in 
the  long  promenade  of  the  hall.  And  Richard, 
happy,  audacious  Richard;  more  than  once  he 
looked  down  into  the  bright  face  at  his  side,  and 
boldly  whispered  "  My  Darling !" 

Once  on  this  promenade  they  passed  Rachel,  who 
sat  chatting  with  some  friends.  Something  in  the 
air  of  the  couple  suddenly  arrested  her  attention  and 
sent  a  momentary  pang  to  her  heart.  "They  are 
but  children,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  Louise  will 
forget  all  this  in  the  coming  year  at  school."  Pres- 
ently the  rich  voice  of  her  daughter  rang  out  in  song. 
The  selection  was  a  light,  joyous  one,  and  surely 
never  did  lark  or  linnet  on  swaying  bough  warble 
so  joyously,  nor  did  ever  an  upturned  feathered 
throat  anywhere  so  surely  sing  of  joy  and  peace. 

Rachel  listened  in  wonder  as  did  the  audience, 
but  no  voice  whispered  to  her  soul  of  the  new  ex- 
perience of  her  daughter.  How  strange  that  often 
we  are  so  slow  to  read  the  hearts  of  our  own. 

This  mother  had  watched  this  young  girl  grow 
from  her  own  arms,  first  into  the  toddling,  willful, 
vivacious  child;  afterwards  into  the  loving  lightener 
of  her  own  cares,  and  later  into  the  peculiar  sun- 
shine of  their  home. 

She  had  grieved  at  times  over  the  imperious  will 


86  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

and  had  rejoiced  when  she  had  deemed  it  laid  low 
at  the  Cross.  Yes,  she  knew  her  so  well,  even- 
trend  of  her  mind,  yet  had  one  hinted  to  her  that 
this  child  might  carry  a  woman's  heart  in  her  breasb 
she  would  have  resented  the  idea.  Slill  more 
would  she  have  been  appalled  could  she  have 
guessed  that  this  same  heart  had  awakened  and 
responded  to  that  strong,  strange  emotion  whose 
coming  is  but  nature's  signal  that  the  gates  of  child- 
hood are  forever  closed. 

As  for  Richard,  "boyish  Richard!"  she  had  said 
to  herself  more  than  once  lately  as  his  fondness 
for  Louise's  company  became  more  marked.  Had 
it  not  been  his  delight  all  his  life  to  rummage  her 
cupboards  in  search  of  cookies  and  toothsome 
sweets;  had  not  he  and  Louise  led  in  mad  pranks 
all  over  the  old  farm?  No;  it  was  but  the  veriest 
nonsense  to  think  of  him  as  her  daughter's  lover. 
Yet  following  uncomfortably  close  upon  this  conclu- 
sion came  the  remembrance  of  the  lover-like  looks 
which  had  startled  her,  and  against  her  will  she 
found  herself,  surrounded  though  she  was  by  music, 
flowers  and  a  gay  crowd,  calming  her  newly 
aroused  fears  with  arguments  why  Richard  Newton 
should  not  be  her  daughter's  lover. 

Not  only  the  half  hushed  whispers  of  his  own 
personal  shortcomings  swept  in  upon  her,  but  the 
worldly,  irreligious  life  of  the  family.  It  had  been 
to  her  a  source  of  real  regret  that  the  old  sweet  ties 
of  friendship  had  been  gradually  yet  so  surely  loos- 


A  LOVE  AFFAIR.  81 

ened,  that  now  each  family  had  come  to  be  well 
content  to  "gang  their  ain  gait;"  that  which  one 
family  held  most  dear  and  sacred,  the  other  consid- 
ered not  at  all  worth  the  while  of  people  of  culture. 
Indeed,  it  had  often  seemed  of  late  that  Mrs.  New- 
ton took  special  pains  to  flaunt  or  parade  her  own 
easy  notions  of  home  life  in  contradistinction  to  the 
sterner  code  of  the  farm. 

"  There  can  be  but  one  end  for  all  this,"  Rachel 
had  more  than  once  said  to  herself,  "and  that  is 
complete  shipwreck  of  the  Christian  faith  and  the 
complete  engulfment  in  the  vortex  of  a  purely 
worldly  life."  "  No,  it  must  not  be!"  and  her  lips 
closed;  and  they  who  knew  her  best  would  have 
known  an  appeal  from  that  decision  would  have 
been  useless. 

During  the  homeward  drive  John  Stevenson  and 
his  wife  talked  of  the  music  of  Louise's  song,  of  the 
heavy  growing  crops  on  either  side  of  the  highway, 
but  never  once  did  Rachel  think  it  worth  while  to- 
mention  her  newborn  fears.  Besides,  if  there  was 
any  growing  feeling  between  the  two,  happily  she 
had  decided  how  it  could  be  best  managed.  That 
very  evening  she  would  await  Louise's  coming, 
would  calmly,  lovingly  point  out  the  possible  dan- 
gers and  insist  upon  a  halt  in  the  boy  and  girl 
friendship.  "How  glad  I  am  I  thought  of  the 
danger  in  time,"  was  her  satisfied  comment  to  her- 
self, as  with  book  in  hand  she  sat  down  alone  to= 
await  Louise's  coming. 


88  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Meanwhile  the  two  lovers  were  loitering  on  the 
homeward  drive.  We  shall  not  obtrude — let  the 
soft  sheen  of  that  same  old  moon  which  has  lent  its 
witchery  to  so  many  such  scenes,  and  the  wafted 
perfume  of  June  roses  and  leafy  verdure  be  the  only 
setting  to  this  old  yet  ever  new  story  which  ardent 
youth  pours  into  willing  ears. 

Lofty  plans  are  made  for  the  future,  for  hides 
there  in  all  the  world  an  obstacle  which  does  not 
vanish  on  the  approach  of  that  old  magician  Love? 
So  says  all  the  fairy  lore  of  the  past,  so  believes  the 
vouthful  pair  who  so  slowly  ride  on.  It  is  well  that 
the  illusion  is  so  complete,  for  in  the  coming  years 
one  weary  heart  at  least  will  pause  in  its  tireless 
work  for  others'  weal  and  in  remembrance  whisper, 
"surely  Heaven  can  be  no  sweeter."  But  there  is 
a  patient  watcher  whose  strained  ear  just  now 
catches  the  rumble  of  wheels,  then  the  sound  of  a 
low  good  night  at  the  door,  and  Louise  has  entered 
the  room. 

As  her  feet  crossed  the  doorway,  involuntarily 
the  watcher's  lips  quivered  slightly,  then  tightened. 
She  was  firm. 

"Why  mother,  are  you  still  up?"  the  musical  voice 
called  out. 

How  beautiful  she  was  that  moment!  even  her 
mother,  burdened  though  her  heart  was  just  now 
with  a  perhaps  unpleasant  duty  to  perform,  could 
not  but  let  her  eyes  dwell  on  the  dainty  picture. 
The  soft  folds  of  her  simple  evening  dress  fell  about 


A  LOVE  AFFAIR.  89 

her.  In  stature  she  was  undersized,  but  her  form 
was  perfect  and  had  a  willowy  suppleness  that  lent 
a  peculiar  charm.  But  it  was  in  the  mobile  earnest- 
ness of  the  face  which  portrayed  every  passing 
emotion,  and  in  the  liquid  softness  of  the  eyes 
wherein  lay  the  greatest  charm. 

As  she  stood  looking  down  at  her  mother  she 
caught  her  wistful,  tender  look  which  unawares 
had  stolen  into  the  upturned,  questioning  face.  Ah ! 
how  many  times  she  had  been  cuddled  in  those 
faithful  arms,  how  many  times  that  work-seamed 
hand  had  smoothed  away  her  troubles!  Why 
should  she  not  now  tell  of  her  new  happiness? 
Dropping  suddenly  upon  her  knees  in  her  old  im- 
pulsive, childish  fashion,  she  laid  the  soft  white  hand 
in  that  of  her  mother's,  exclaiming  brokenly,  "  Oh? 
mother!  Richard!  I  am  so  happy!"  and  the 
brown  head  nestled  in  her  mother's  lap. 

Had  a  thunderbolt  fallen  at  her  feet,  Rachel 
could  not  have  been  more  surprised.  A  half  hour 
ago  she  had  sat  waiting  to  kindly,  yet  firmly  point 
out  a  future  possible  undesirable  result,  and  now 
that  dreaded  result  was  a  fact. 

What  should  she  say?  Should  she  call  up  her 
motherly  prerogative  of  reproof  and  forbid  the 
affair  entirely?  Ah,  she  knew  the  strong,  unyielding 
will  too  well  for  that.  Swifter  than  did  ever  a  modern 
telegraph  ring  out  an  alarm,  the  cry  for  help  went 
straight  to  the  Throne,  and  with  the  cry  was  borne 
in  the  message,  «« take  time."  Yes,  she  must  have 

7 


90  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

time.  Time  to  think  it  all  over,  to  use  all  the  tact- 
ful resources  of  her  nature. 

For  answer  she  kissed  the  sweet  young  face, 
saying,  "Another  time  we  will  talk  it  over;  just 
now  I  cannot  take  in  your  evident  meaning.  Surely 
'tis  but  a  boy  and  girl  fancy." 

"Mother!" 

The  young  girl  catching  the  unfriendly  tone,  had 
arisen.  In  that  one  word  Rachel,  in  weariness  of 
heart,  recognized  that  the  child  was  forever  gone, 
and  a  woman  with  whom  she  must  battle  was  in 
her  stead. 

"  You  must  sleep  now,"  she  said,  "another  time 
we  will  talk  it  over,"  and  putting  her  arms  gently 
about  her,  led  her  to  the  little  plain  room  she  shared 
with  Ruth. 

It  was  long  before  either  slept.  With  Louise  her 
mind  dwelt  first  on  her  newfound  happiness,  and 
again  on  her  mother's  strang  reception  of  it.  "  She 
thinks  us  children!  Oh,  mother!"  and  the  very 
tone  of  the  thought  implied  a  constancy  that  boded 
ill  for  Rachel's  plans. 

And  Rachel;  for  hours  she  tossed  upon  the  bed, 
and  feverishly  asked  herself  the  question,  "  How 
can  this  foolish  boy  and  girl  affair  be  stopped?"  for 
that  it  must  be  stopped  was  as  clear  to  her  as  noon- 
day. But  how?  And  until  the  early  morning  hour 
she  still  asked  herself,  "how?" 

The  next  day  bade  fair  to  be  an  uneventful  one. 
The  mother  still  felt  herself  unequal  to  the  task  of 


A  LOVE  AFFAIR.  91 

discussing  the  matter.  She  had  not  even  yet  told 
her  husband.  Louise,  in  the  shyness  of  young  girl- 
hood, avoided  all  mention  of  it.  The  shadows  of 
the  afternoon  had  already  begun  to  slant  when 
Rose  still  the  baby  pet  who  liked  nothing  better 
than  a  romp  with  Richard  came  in  and  triumph- 
antly announced  that  "  Richard  had  come,  and  was 
talking  to  father." 

The  hot  crimson  blood  surged  up  to  the  very 
roots  of  Louise's  hair,  for  on  the  evening  before 
Richard  had  told  her  that  before  another  day  closed 
he  meant  to  stand  before  her  family  as  her  accepted 
lover.  "  It  will  be  so  much  better,"  he  had  said, 
"  to  have  the  matter  clearly  understood."  The 
plans  for  the  future  of  the  young  pair  were  yet 
misty.  Richard  had  already  in  a  desultory  manner 
begun  the  study  of  law,  his  chosen  profession,  but 
lately  he  had  thought  much  of  a  position  with  his 
father  in  the  mill,  and  a  cozy  home  for  his  young 
bride.  But  even  if  the  future  was  not  settled,  in 
his  frank  way  he  was  determined  his  new  relation- 
ship to  Louise  should  be  known. 

Hearing  he  had  come,  Louise  sought  refuge  in 
her  own  little  room,  and  Rachel  nerved  herself  for 
she  felt  that  a  crisis  was  at  hand.  The  door  opened, 
admitting  her  husband  and  Richard.  On  the  first 
face  was  written  perplexed  surprise,  with  not  a  little 
alarm.  On  the  other,  oh,  what  a  metamorphosis! 
Strong,  manly  resolution  had  succeeded  the  boyish 


92  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

smile.  It  dawned  on  Rachel  that  the  "  fancy  "  had 
taken  deep  root. 

"Mother,"  her  husband  always  spoke  thus  when 
a  matter  of  importance  was  being  discussed,  "Can 
you  guess  what  Richard  has  asked  of  us?" 

Rachel  cast  a  swift,  searching,  almost  pitying 
glance  upon  the  eager  bright  face. 

There  was  no  fear  of  her  in  Richard's  heart. 
All  his  life  she  had  been  to  him  a  kind  of  second 
mother.  He  had  gone  to  her  with  a  want  as  readily 
as  to  his  own.  True,  he  had  said  to  Louise  that  on 
account  of  different  family  views  of  life  he  was  not 
a  favorite,  yet  love  had  made  him  bold.  Surely 
there  could  be  no  real  opposition  from  her  who  had 
known  him  all  his  life. 

So  in  an  instant  he  had  gone  to  her  side. 
'•  You  know  I  have  always  loved  Louise.  I 
thought  it  only  right  to  tell  you  that  we  have  pledged 
our  mutual  love,  and  we  shall  be  happy  with  your 
blessing  and  good  will."  An  oppressive  silence 
followed,  broken  at  length  by  Rachel,  whose  voice 
sounded  strange  and  husky. 

You  know,  Richard,  that  we  would  willingly 
make  any  sacrifice  for  Louise's  good,  but  I  am  sur- 
prised that  you  should  seriously  ask  this;  you  must 
know  that  you  are  each  far  too  young."  Richard 
made  a  gesture  of  impatience.  "  Your  education  is 
incomplete;  so  is  hers;  you  have  made  no  plans  for 
the  future;  it  would  be  a  positive  unkindness  to  you 


A  LOVE  AFFAIR.  93 

both  for  us  to  consent  to  what  you  ask.  In  a  few 
years  you  will  each  laugh  at  this  passing  folly." 

A  flood  of  anger  rose  to  the  young  man's  face  at 
these  words. 

Just  then  he  caught  the  flutter  of  a  dress  in  the 
room  beyond.  In  a  moment  he  was  by  Louise's 
side.  "Come,  my  darling,  we  must  settle  this  to- 
gether," and  impetuously  he  led  her  into  the  room 
where  sat  her  parents.  What  was  it  that  caused 
her  to  seek  her  father's  side?  Mayhap  in  that  swift 
instant  she  read  a  growing  heart  tenderness.  Cer- 
tain it  is,  from  her  mother  she  expected  no  pity. 

"Passing  fancy!"  It  was  Richard  who  spoke. 
"  I  tell  you  I  verily  believe  this  love  was  born  in  me. 
I  could  give  up  life  easier  than  I  could  give  up  this. 
As  for  further  education,  Louise's  love  will  be  an 
inspiration.  As  for  life's  plans,  we  will  be  willing 
to  wait,  if  we  must,  but  such  men  as  have  had  a 
loving  heart  by  their  side  are  those  who  have  made 
the  greatest  success  of  life." 

How  well  he  pleaded  his  cause,  Rachel  could 
but  think. 

"Can  /ever  be  happy?  Can  my  daughter  ever 
be  happy,  if  she  takes  a  husband  from  a  careless 
worldly  family?  Aye,  if  reports  be  true,  a  husband 
who  has  already  learned  to  love  sin;  the  first  flush 
of  love's  young  dream  over,  would  he  not  grow 
weary  of  her  sterner  morals?  Ah,  might  not  these 
morals  tone  themselves  down  to  the  lower  plane?" 


94  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

No,  this  alliance  must  never  be.  She  must  speak 
plainly. 

"  Richard,  your  notions  of  life  are  different  from 
ours,  as  are  your  ideals.  What  to  us  is  the  most 
sacred,  to  you  is  a  subject  for  jest.  When  Louise 
is  older  she  will  see  this  for  herself.  Until  then  I 
must  think  for  her." 

This  young  man  in  all  his  life  had  known  but  lit- 
tle opposition,  and  now  to  have  this  supreme  wish 
disregarded  was  unbearable;  besides  Rachel's  last 
words  had  touched  him  as  the  others  had  not. 

"And  for  such  a  cause  you  would  part  us!  And 
yet  I  am  to  admire  such  religion!"  "  Louise,"  and 
he  turned  to  the  young  girl,  "have  you  not  a  word 
to  say?"  For  answer,  without  looking  at  her 
mother,  Louise  arose  and  walked  to  her  lover's  side 
and  calmly  put  her  hand  in  his,  turning  such  a  look' 
of  unutterable  love  upon  him  that  a  wave  of  happi- 
ness swallowed  up  his  anger. 

Rachel  bowed  her  head  while  a  very  storm  swept 
over  her.  Was  this  the  reward  of  motherhood  .J 
Was  it  for  this  she  had  known  no  other  law  than 
that  of  uncomplaining  self  denial?  And  she  knew 
that  in  this  clash  of  wills  she  was  right.  Thus  far 
the  father  had  said  nothing,  though  keenly  alive  to 
every  phase  of  the  disputed  question. 

Turning  to  his  daughter  he  asked,  "  How  old  are 
you  Louise?" 

"Eighteen,  my  last  birthday." 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  time  has  been  cheating  you; 


A  LOVE  AFFAIR.  95 

Louise  is  no  longer  a  child.  Just  so  old  were  you 
when  you  left  your  father's  roof  to  share  this  hum- 
ble home  with  me." 

His  wife  could  scarcely  believe  what  she  heard. 
Certainly  he  did  not  approve  what  to  her  seemed 
unendurable.  Louise  quickly  appealed,  "Father, 
we  are  willing  to  wait  if  you  think  best,  but  help 
us  to  settle  this  that  there  be  no  estrangement." 

"  It  seems  to  me,  mother,"  added  he  gently,  "this 
need  not  be  settled  definitely  now.  The  young 
people  have  said  they  were  willing  to  wait.  Let 
Louise  go  with  Asbury  as  we  have  planned.  Let 
Richard  prepare  himself  for  life,  and  then — and 
then,  mother,  after  all,  this  is  something  each  heart 
must  settle  for  itself." 

These  words  seemed  so  reasonable  that  even 
Rachel,  as  well  as  Louise  and  Richard,  felt  it  was 
•best  to  acquiesce. 

It  was  hard  for  matters  to  drop  back  into  the  old 
groove,  indeed  Rachel  feared  more  than  once  the  old 
sweet  intercourse  between  herself  and  Louise  was 
forever  gone.  Richard,  with  lover-like  boldness, 
did  not  make  his  visits  to  the  farm  fewer,  but  in- 
sisted on  coming  and  going  with  his  old  freedom. 
Meanwhile  there  was  a  growing  good  comradeship 
between  Louise  and  her  father. 

But  to  be  fully  employed  has  been  a  cure  for 
many  a  heartache.  So  the  busy  days  at  the  farm- 
house served  to  tide  over  what  might  have  been  an 
embarrassing  time.  Asbury  was  doubly  busy,  for 


96  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

his  father  depended  largely  upon  him  and  the 
younger  boys  for  harvesting  the  crops.  Besides 
he  was  studying  that  he  might  enter  an  advanced 
class  at  college.  Louise,  too,  had  her  full  share  of 
work,  so  the  Summer  went  by. 

Richard  had  had  yet  another  experience  after  his 
first  interview  with  Louise's  parents,  the  details  of 
which  he  could  not  unbosom  even  to  Louise,  but 
which  had  given  him  much  food  for  private  reflec- 
tion. Straight  from  the  farm  he  had  gone  to  his 
father's  office.  He  had  gone  with  a  vague  expecta- 
tion of  asking  for  a  partnership  in  the  business,  or 
for  a  position  with  a  salary.  Entering  the  office  to 
which  he  had  grown  more  and  more  a  stranger,  he 
caught  sight  of  his  father  at  a  desk.  How  weary 
and  care-worn  he  looked!  How  hot  and  stifling 
the  air! 

Some  how,  after  a  sight  of  the  bowed  figure,  it 
was  not  so  easy  to  begin.  Yet  after  a  few  common- 
place remarks  he  began  his  story.  Rachel  Steven- 
son's surprise  did  not  exceed  William  Newton's. 
But  yesterday  he  might  have  answered  him  gruffly, 
but  to-day,  with  that  handsome,  glowing  face  be- 
fore him,  how  could  he?  But  a  partnership?  Nor 
alas!  A  position  with  a  salary?  No.  Father 
and  son  talked  long  and  earnestly  over  the  ledgers, 
and  at  the  close  of  the  conversation  the  father  went 
back  to  his  accounts  with  a  sigh.  The  son  passed 
into  the  sunshine  with  a  preoccupied  air.  When 
he  next  saw  Louise  he  told  her  he  believed  his 
fathers  advice  best,  and  that  he  would  enter  a 
school  of  law  that  coming  Autumn. 


CHAPTER  X. 

COLLEGE A  STUDY  OF  HOMES. 

fAZILY  the  first  hint  of  September  breezes 
played  in  and  out  of  the  open  door  of  the 
^  farmhouse. 

Within  there  was  far  more  hurry  and  bustle  than 
was  common  to  this  well  ordered  home.  Rapidly 
the  mother  moved  about,  placing  now  and  then  a 
forgotten  package  in  one  or  the  other  of  two  trunks 
which  stood  almost  ready  for  the  final  straps.  Out- 
side by  the  gate,  champing  their  bits  impatiently, 
stood  Princess  and  Nell  with  the  familiar  light 
wagon  which  was  to  bear  Asbury  and  Louise  to  the 
train  which  in  turn  was  to  whirl  them  to  that  world 
of  new  experiences,  the  University. 

As  their  father  drove  up,  an  involuntary  pain 
clutched  at  their  mother's  heart.  How  often  this 
selfsame  team  had  driven  up  in  their  childhood  to 
carry  them  to  church,  to  school,  and  now  they  were 
going.  Was  it  forever? 

The  morning  prayer  had  been  full  of  pathos  at  the 
parting,  and  rich  in  pleading  for  Divine  care.  Yet 
this  mother  could  not  see  them  go  without  a  per- 


98  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

sonal  prayer  for  each.  So  alone  in  the  little  cham- 
ber she  knelt,  first  with  Asbury  and  then  with 
Louise.  With  trembling  voice  she  prayed  first  that 
life  and  health  might  be  spared,  and  that  each  should 
make  the  most  of  the  opportunity  that  was  to  be 
theirs  to  fit  themselves  for  wherever  duty  might 
call. 

Then  followed  a  hurried  parting,  and  soon  the 
footsteps  died  down  the  gravel  walk,  and  the  two 
had  gone  out  from  the  home. 

How  strangely  silent  the  house  seemed  to  Rachel, 
who  was  left  alone.  While  their  going  was  the  frui- 
tion of  her  hopes,  still  it  was  borne  in  upon  her  as  she 
listlessly  went  about  setting  things  to  rights,  that  her 
children,  as  children,  were  gone  forever.  If  their 
lives  were  spared  they  would  return  only  to  go  out 
again,  finally  to  take  their  places  among  life's 
toilers. 

She  recalled  their  childhood,  their  peculiar  dispo- 
sitions and  their  probable  future.  How  her  heart 
thrilled  as  Asbury's  exemplary  life  arose.  How 
clear  his  brain;  how  studious  his  habits;  how  un- 
flinchingly he  had  walked  in  the  path  of  duty. 

And  Louise;  she  had  been  a  good  daughter. 
Throughout  her  whole  life  her  willing  hands  and 
feet  had  lightened  her  own  cares,  while  her  cheery, 
bright  ways  and  sweet  voice  had  made  much  of  the 
home  music.  As  for  Richard,  with  her  husband  she 
had  come  to  think  that  had  best  be  left  to  time,  and 
that  surely  time  would  settle  it  aright.  He  had  left 


COLLEGE— A  STUDY  OF  HOMES.  99 

the  week  before  for  a  college  farther  east,  and  she 
trusted  that  new  faces  and  new  associations  would 
break  the  tie. 

A  few  hours  and  the  family  had  returned,  and  the 
routine  of  work  and  study  was  resumed.  Ruth 
and  Edward  wtre  each  in  the  Academy,  while  John, 
a  sturdy  lad  of  thirteen,  with  little  Rose  attended 
the  school  nearer  home.  So  the  house  much  of  the 
time  was  strangely  quiet,  and  very  unlike  the  old 
patter  and  bustle  of  busy  feet. 

On  the  farm  matters  were  assuming  a  more 
cheerful  financial  outlook.  The  rich  pastures  were 
flecked  with  cattle.  The  dark  prairie  soil  harvested 
good  crops.  Long  ago  good  barns  had  been  built, 
which  now  in  the  Autumn  fruitage,  were  rilled  to 
overflowing. 

One  of  the  maxims  of  this  family  had  been  the 
scriptural  injunction,  "Owe  no  man  anything."  So 
now,  as  the  father  had  gotten  much  stronger  and  the 
younger  boys  were  old  enough  to  relieve  him  not  a 
little,  the  Stevensons  rightfully  looked  forward  to  a 
greater  leisure,  for  the  farm,  while  not  a  means  of 
rapid  wealth,  is  surer  than  most  others. 

Since  the  abandonment  of  the  new  house  at  the 
opening  of  the  war,  the  subject  had  not  again  been 
broached,  only  as  something  in  the  indefinite  future. 
But  now  it  was  planned  that  when  Asbury  and 
Louise  should  come  home  for  the  summer  vacation 
they  would  be  welcomed  to  the  new  home,  nothing 


100  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

elegant  or  pretentious,  but  added  room  which  would 
make  household  cares  less  burdensome. 

So  much  time  has  of  late  been  given  to  the  farm- 
house that  it  is  high  time  that  we  were  turning  to 
the  more  pretentious  home  of  the  Newtons.  We 
have  already  seen  the  old  friendship  wavering  un- 
der the  strain  of  growing  uncongenial  tastes,  in  ad- 
dition— but  perhaps  they  fancied  it — both  John  and 
Rachel  thought  since  the  refusal  to  remain  longer 
on  the  note  as  security  Mr.  Newton  had  been 
strangely  reserved  even  to  the  point  of  avoidance. 
Moreover,  Rachel's  known  hostility  to  the  affair 
between  Richard  and  Louise  touched  Margaret  as 
perhaps  nothing  else  had,  for  in  Richard's  love 
for  this  sweet,  blithe  girl  her  mother  heart  perceived 
his  strongest  safeguard,  and  her  selfishness  could 
see  nothing  amiss  in  the  sacrifice  of  innocent  young 
girlhood  upon  the  altar  of  a  hoped-for  reformation. 

Yet,  if  a  growing  fear  lurked  about  her 
heart,  the  years  saw  no  change  in  her  home 
life.  Home  wines  were  still  found  in  the  cellar. 
She  refused  to  see  danger  lurking  in  the  amber- 
colored,  quivering  jelly  which  bore  the  pungent 
flavor  of  choice  old  Burgundy,  nor  in  the  brandit-d 
peaches  upon  her  cellar  shelves. 

Nor  did  she  think  it  worth  while,  now  that  there 
were  young  Christians  in  the  family  to  attempt 
new  reading  habits.  Another  might  have  argued 
that  these  should  be  supplied  with  a  literature 
which  in  itself  would  foster  and  develop  the  new 


COLLEGE— A  STUDY  OF  HOMES.  101 

experience  and  bind  them  irrevocably  to  the  new 
life;  not  she.  She  had  lived  a  life  of  moral  recti- 
tude, why  not  her  children?  She  did  not  ask 
more  than  a  moral  life  for  them,  so  she  knew  no 
regret  when  Marie  and  Therese  lapsed  into  the  old 
worldly  life,  nor  but  little  uneasiness  when  Richard 
at  long  intervals  came  down  to  the  morning  meal 
with  aching  head  and  dull  eyes.  Had  not  even 
.some  great  men  been  a  little  wild  in  their  youth? 
She  received  with  extreme  satisfaction  his  ready 
acquiescence  in  his  father's  wishes  for  a  college  and 
law  course.  She  was  sure  he  would  come  home 
crowned  with  honor. 

Marie  had  yet  another  year  in  the  Academy. 
She  had  always  been  a  beautiful  child,  and  was 
growing  into  a  lovely  young  womanhood.  Her 
heart  and  impulses  were  good.  In  an  humbler  or 
Christian  home  she  might  have  developed  into  a 
strong  womanhood;  as  it  was,  she  became  a  type 
of  thousands  who  sacrifice  everything  to  the  de- 
mands of  dress  and  society.  She  could  "play"  a 
little  on  the  pianoforte,  but  of  music  as  an  art,  a  life 
study,  she  had  not  dreamed.  Had  she  known  the 
first  elements  of  hard  work  and  patience,  she  might, 
in  time,  have  done  something  as  an  artist;  as  it  was 
she  was  content  to  paint  what  her  young  friends 
styled  "perfectly  lovely  pictures,"  and  then  smiled. 

Like  her  type,  she  would  probably  marry  early. 
Indeed  in  the  home  circle  her  "engagement"  to 
Charlie  Hudson,  "a  good  fellow,"  and  what  was 


102  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

better  the  son  of  Banker  Hudson,  was  already  ac- 
knowledged, but  the  marriage  was  not  to  occur 
for  a  year.  Once  married  she  would  become,  in 
all  likelihood,  a  conventional  society  woman  not 
unlike  her  mother. 

Therese  was  something  of  the  same  pattern,  yet 
there  was  a  certain  dash  about  her  that  gave  one  a 
sense  of  uneasiness  akin  to  that  which  a  restless 
team  imparts,  not  knowing  exactly  what  turn  it 
may  take.  She  was  a  winsome  girl,  about  the 
same  age  as  Ruth  Stevenson,  and  between  these  two 
a  warm  friendship  existed.  From  earliest  childhood 
she  had  been  inordinately  fond  of  reading.  She  it  was 
who  eagerly  cut  the  magazine  pages  to  devour  its 
monthly  dish  of  "serials."  She  had  a  keen  literary 
perception,  and  had  she  had  a  faithful  guide  into  the 
sweets  of  poetry  or  the  wealth  of  history,  or  had 
she  been  directed  even  to  the  better  class  of  fiction, 
how  much  of  sorrow  would  have  been  averted. 
As  it  was  she  was  left  largely  to  follow  her  own 
inclinations.  To  do  her  mother  justice,  when  she 
perceived  this  growing  and  absorbing  taste,  she 
did  try  to  check  it.  As  well  try  to  dam  a  stream 
and  leave  the  fountain  untouched.  So  Therese 
grew  to  live  more  and  more  in  the  realms  of  fancy, 
often  imagining  herself  the  heroine  of  whose  woes 
she  was  reading.  No  wonder  she  found  the 
church  irksome,  the  home  dull,  and  the  plodding 
studies  of  school  life  unendurable. 

Standing    in   life   "Where  the  Brook  and  River 


COLLEGE— A  STUDY  OF  HOMES.  103 

Meet,"  unconsciously  to  herself  she  was  beginning 
to  long  for  an  exciting  experience  akin  to  that  of 
the  heroines  whose  exploits  she  found  so  thrilling. 

Before  we  leave  the  Newton's  to  look  after  the 
students  whom  we  left  rapidly  whirling  college- 
ward,  we  must  look  in  upon  Mr.  Newton  himself. 
To  do  this,  it  will  be  necessary  to  seek  the  office,, 
for  he  is  scarcely  at  home,  except  to  hurried  meals, 
and  at  late  hours  for  slumber. 

Though  scarcely  fifty  years  of  age,  his  hair  is 
rapidly  whitening,  the  old-time  sprightliness  of  step 
is  gone,  yet  the  eyes  maintain  the  old  alertness 
with  the  addition  of  certainly  a  trace  of  feverish 
anxiety. 

Since  the  days  of  his  first  speculation  in  Burton 
real  estate  he  had  lived  a  restless  life.  Through 
the  troublous  days  of  the  war  he  had  so  success- 
fully managed  his  large  interests  that  his  fortune 
had  doubled  and  trebled. 

He  had  always  been  a  loving  husband  and  indul- 
gent father.  Nothing  that  money  could  devise  to- 
make  the  home  happier  was  lacking,  hence  there 
never  was  a  thought  but  that  the  family  purse  was- 
unlimited. 

Within  the  last  year  Mrs.  Newton  noticed  with 
anxiety  that  he  was  becoming  more  and  more  ab- 
sorbed in  his  business,  and  taking  on  a  haggard 
and  preoccupied  air.  She  had  never  been  lacking 
in  wifely  devotion,  and  it  was  with  forebodings 
she  began  to  expect  a  breaking  down  of  his  health,. 


104  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

and  to  urge  him  to  take  time  for  recuperation,  but 
instead  he  seemed  to  apply  himself  even  more 
closely. 

Mrs.  Newton  and  her  daughters  were  still  punc- 
tilious in  their  attendance  upon  the  morning  services 
at  the  church,  but  it  had  come  to  pass  that  Mr. 
Newton  scarcely  ever  accompanied  them.  Indeed 
he  found  no  day  so  free  from  interruptions,  conse- 
quently none  so  well  adapted  for  work  on  his 
ledger.  So  Sabbath  after  Sabbath  this  overworked 
man  of  multiplied  cares  sought  to  untangle  the 
chaotic  threads  of  the  past  week's  work. 

But  were  they  chaotic?  Not  once  did  Mrs. 
Newton  suspect  this,  but  such  ugly  rumors  were 
rapidly  gaining  credence.  As  a  drowning  man 
rapidly  divests  himself  of  any  burden  which  hin- 
ders his  life  struggle,  so  it  was  apparent  that  Wil- 
liam Newton  was  drawing  his  business  affairs  into 
a  narrower  circle. 

Still  the  ponderous  wheels  of  the  great  mill 
swung  around  with  lightning  rapidity.  The  fur- 
nace tires  glowed  brightly,  and  the  huge  chimneys 
were  black  with  the  cloud  which  overhung  them 
night  and  day. 

There  was  certainly  no  signs  of  decay  about  that 
busy  hive,  and  if  aught  of  the  rumors  were  true,  it 
was  compelled  to  remain  a  rumor,  for  the  lips  of 
the  proprietor  were  closely  sealed,  and  his  bearing 
as  self-cofident  as  ever. 


CHAPTER  XL 

DEVELOPED  CHARACTERS. 

fT  WAS  with  mingled  feelings  that  Asbury 
and  Louise  found  themselves  at  the  last  mo- 
ment hurried  from  the  quiet  of  the  home,  up- 
on the  journey  which  was  to  open  to  them  the  cov- 
eted new  life.  Keen  regrtt  was  felt  as  the  reflection 
obtruded  itself  upon  even  their  young  minds,  as  it 
had  upon  their  mother's,  that  the  old  home  life  was 
forever  gone. 

But  just  ahead  lay  that  wonderful  future  called 
"  Life,"  whose  successes  and  failures  so  surely 
awaited  them,  and  before  which  intervened  a  few 
coveted  years  of  college  life.  And  as  each  recalled 
the  self  denial  of  the  family  life,  the  hard-working 
father  and  mother,  it  seemed  marvelous  that  the 
dream  of  years  was  being  realized.  So  it  might  be 
forgiven  them  if  with  the  natural  regret  was  min- 
gled not  a  little  proud  exhileration  and  joyous  ex- 
pectancy for  the  life  ahead. 

This  was  particuliarly  true  of  Asbury.  All  his 
life  he  had  been  naturally  studious.  The  quiet 

8 


106  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

home  evenings  had  been  rich  in  their  implanting  in- 
his  mind  of  broad  plans  for  the  future,  for  during 
these  had  been  developed  an  intimate  acquaintance 
with  men  and  women  whose  lives  had  shaped 
church  and  state,  and  as  the  acquaintance  grew, 
his  young  heart  had  beaten  in  unison  with  their 
struggles  and  triumphs,  and  unconsciously  had 
grown  up  the  desire  to  also  live  for  a  purpose, 
making  some  little  corner  of  the  world  better  for 
his  having  lived  in  it.  Then  had  come  his  conver- 
sion. Again,  the  still,  solemn  promptings  of  the 
Spirit,  which  knew  no  rest  till  he  had  given  his  life 
to  the  service  of  his  King.  And  now  he  was  about 
realizing  his  desires.  Little  wonder  that  the  past 
rapidly  melted  into  the  glorious  future. 

Louise,  though  in  a  different  way,  shared  his  en- 
thusiasm. The  parting  between  herself  and  Rich- 
ard had  been  full  of  mutual  hopes  and  pledges  for 
the  future,  and  though  years  should  intervene  be- 
fore the  fruition  of  their  hopes,  still  they  were 
young  and  strong  in  each  other's  love,  so  the  part- 
ing was  without  bitterness. 

And  though  she  began  her  collegiate  course  with 
a  tumult  of  heart  of  which  staid  Asbury  knew 
nothing,  yet  it  was  with  real  girlish  enthusiasm 
that  she  too  found  herself  journeying  collegeward. 

The  journey  occupied  a  day  and  a  night,  and 
after  a  few  hours  the  dainty  lunch  was  gotten  out. 
How  welcome  the  flaky  bread,  how  delicious  the 
home  butter,  and  what  motherly  remembrances 


DEVELOPED  CHARACTERS.  107 

had  been  exercised  in  preparing  some  specially 
liked  delicacy.  About  dusk  the  following  day  the 
travelers  found  themselves  at  the  end  of  their 
journey. 

They  experienced  a  momentary  shade  of  disap- 
pointment as  they  stepped  into  the  fitful,  weird 
light  of  the  platform.  How  small  the  town;  but 
each  remembered  it  was  the  University  they  had 
come  to  seek,  and  the  great  noisy  crowds  of  young 
men  and  women  proclaimed  it  a  University  town. 
Trunks  came  tumbling  off  by  the  dozen ;  old  friends, 
jolly  comrades  of  the  past,  called  out  to  each  other  in 
noisy  and  exuberant  greeting.  Yet  if  the  many 
were  thus  at  home  in  their  surroundings,  not  a  few 
stood  hesitatingly,  not  knowing  just  which  way  to 
turn.  Among  these  last  were  Asbury  and  Louise, 
but  not  long.  They  soon  found  temporary  lodging 
for  the  night,  and  the  next  day  found  them  settled. 
Asbury  to  room  near  the  college,  and  Louise  in  a 
home  farther  away.  Acquaintances  were  rapidly 
made,  the  college  course  was  studied,  each  was 
classified  and  student  life  began. 

It  was  indeed  a  delightful  experience  to  awaken 
in  the  morning,  absolutely  free  from  care.  No 
waiting,  insisting  breakfast  to  be  gotten,  no  hurry- 
ing that  the  burdensome  dishwashing  might  be 
gotten  rid  of  before  school,  no  lowing  stock  to  be 
fed  and  watered,  no  horses  to  be  curried;  in  short, 
perfect  freedom  from  the  old  exacting  cares,  with 
time  to  study,  time  for  exercise,  with  the  environ' 


108  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

ments  constantly  tending  to  bring  out  the  best  there 
was  in  one.  Here  was  an  entire  community  of  young 
people,  all,  with  hardly  an  exception,  earnestly 
at  work.  At  home,  in  the  Academy,  both  Asbury 
and  Louise  had  been  known  as  the  "best  students," 
but  here  they  soon  found  that  if  the  old  order  of  su- 
premacy was  to  be  maintained,  hard  study  was 
before  each. 

Perhaps  in  no  place  in  which  one  finds  himself, 
is  the  aristocracy  of  intellect  so  apparent  as  in  a 
college.  Wealth,  social  position,  even  the  cut  and 
material  of  one's  clothes,  matters  but  little,  but  the 
essential  question  is,  "are  they  good  students?"  It 
took  but  little  time  for  our  young  friends  to  demon- 
strate this  question  to  the  satisfaction  alike  of  fac- 
ulty and  students,  and  they  were  soon  received  into 
the  inner  sanctum  of  good  favor  and  fellowship. 

So  well  had  Asbury  improved  his  time  at  home, 
that  after  his  examination  he  found  he  would  have 
but  three  years  in  the  college.  He  hoped  for  an 
additional  year  or  two  for  special  preparation  for 
his  life  work. 

Louise,  it  will  be  remembered,  had  yet  another 
year  in  the  Academy,  so  she  felt  well  satisfied  upon 
being  admitted  to  the  freshman  class,  where  she 
soon  became  known  as  a  hard-working  student. 
Her  sunny  disposition  that  had  made  sunshine 
in  the  old  farmhouse,  as  well  as  her  ready  helpful- 
ness, soon  made  her  deservedly  popular.  Added 
to  these  traits  was  her  clear,  rich  voice,  which  soon 


DEVELOPED  CHARACTERS.  109 

made    her     presence    at    social     gatherings    much 
sought  after. 

No,  Louise  Stevenson  did  not  go  to  college  as  a 
recluse,  to  dream  of  nothing  but  her  absent  lover, 
but  rather  as  a  clear-brained,  wide-awake  girl,  who 
meant  to  get  as  much  as  possible  out  of  life.  Yet 
soon  her  most  intimate  friends  came  to  feel  that 
with  them  all  there  was  a  reservation  which  out- 
siders did  not  penetrate,  for  Louise  was  faithful  to 
her  absent  lover. 

Though  her  mother  was  building  much  on  the 
new  scenes  that  were  to  break  the  fatal  spell  of 
early  love;  with  Louise  such  scenes  could  come. 
She  could  even  grow  to  be  a  strong  factor  in  these 
associations,  yet  even  as  the  needle  points  irresist- 
ibly towards  the  North  star,  quite  as  surely  did  the 
soul  of  this  earnest  and  sincere  girl  cleave  to  the 
absent.  Poor  anxious  mother  heart!  You  may  as 
well  know  now  that  there  is  nothing  which  will 
sever  this  tie.  Nothing?  Hold;  there  is  a  pure 
brave  heart  in  that  girlish  breast,  there  is  clear 
knowledge  of  right  and  wrong,  more,  a  hatred  of 
wrong,  and  there  is  a  ivitt  strong  enough  to  lay 
down  a  life  or  a  love  if  right  should  so  demand. 
Closely  should  the  absent  lover  watch  his  actions 
lest  they  be  the  power  that  breaks  the  sweet  tie. 

Among  the  new  friends  Louise  had  made,  her 
room  mate,  Emma  Ward,  grew  to  be  one  of  the 
most  valued.  Her  home  was  in  a  distant  eastern 


110  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

city.  She  had  been  born  into  an  atmosphere  of 
Christian  culture  and  wealth.  She  had  seen  this 
wealth  held  simply  as  a  means  providentially  given 
to  help  in  the  problem  of  the  world's  betterment, 
and  one  of  her  earliest  lessons  had  been  that  the 
possession  or  non-possesssion  of  wealth  by  the  in- 
dividual might  be  a  mere  incident  of  circumstances, 
but  that  back  of  this  in  determining  friendships 
should  be  the  solid  rock  of  personal  worth  and 
character,  and  hence  although  in  the  Ward  mansion 
the  petty  economies  and  hard  work  with  which  the 
Stevenson  young  people  were  so  familiar,  were 
unknown.  Yet  the  ideals  were  the  same.  In  the 
mansion,  quite  as  truly  as  in  the  farm  house  was 
God  loved  and  served,  so  it  was  not  strange  that  a 
warm  personal  friendship  sprang  into  existence,  a 
friendship  that  came  to  be  far-reaching  in  its  effects 
upon  Louise. 

Emma  had  been  in  the  college  the  previous  year, 
so  had  not  about  her  the  shyness  of  the  newcomer. 
She  was  known  as  a  good  student,  yet  not  particu- 
larly brilliant.  Moreover  she  was  of  a  bright,  fun- 
loving  disposition.  From  the  first  hour  of  meeting 
she  was  strongly  attached  to  the  shy  country  girl, 
and  when  one  Sunday  evening  in  the  privacy  of 
their  room,  Louise  began  with  her  marvelously 
sweet  voice  to  sing  some  of  the  church  hymns  so 
familiar  in  both  homes,  the  work  was  done,  Emma's 
homage  was  complete  from  that  hour.  As  for 
Louise  she  began  to  be  drawn  out  of  her- 


DEVELOPED  CHARACTERS.  Ill 

self  and  to  really  enjoy   the  social  side  of  college 
life. 


But  there  is  yet  another  student  in  whom  we  are 
interested.  Richard  Newton  had  left  for  college 
with  emotions  far  different  from  any  he  had  before 
known,  emotions  little  guessed  by  any  of  his  home  cir- 
cle, save  his  father.  To  understand  these  it  is  neces- 
sary to  go  back  to  that  morning  when,  angry  at  the 
unexpected  opposition  of  Louise's  mother,  he  strode 
out  from  the  farm  house  determined  to  lay  his  plans 
before  his  father.  It  will  be  remembered  that  after 
this  interview  he  had  gone  out  silent  and  oppressed, 
and  strangely  willing,  considering  his  natural  impet- 
uosity, to  abide  by  his  father's  suggestions.  Let  us 
.go  back  to  that  interview.  As  this  prematurely  old, 
care-engrossed  man  who  like  many  another  had  lost 
his  family  in  a  sea  of  business,  looked  into  the 
handsome  glowing  face,  there  swept  into  his  heart  a 
vision  of  the  old  days  at  Lynton  when  he  had  wooed 
and  won  the  beautiful  Margaret.  Patiently  he 
heard  the  story  to  the  end,  but  the  remorselessly 
keen  eyes  gave  no  trace  of  tenderness  as  he  sternly 
said: 

"  You  are  barely  twenty-one,  not  yet  out  of 
school.  You  have  no  profession,  nor  no  notions  of 
business  that  I  have  ever  been  able  to  discover." 

Richard  winced.  Yes,  he  had  often  declaimed 
against  the  irksome  confinement  of  the  office. 

"  Do  you  think  it  wise  to  take  a  wife  to  poverty?" 


112  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

"But  father,  I  see  my  folly;  give  me  a  %small 
humble  place  in  your  business." 

"My  business!"  bitterly  interrupted  the  elder. 
"Come  with  me;"  and  there  in  the  curtained  alcove, 
the  place  where  Mr.  Newton  spent  so  much  time 
with  his  books,  Richard  caught  his  first  glimpse  of 
the  bankruptcy  which  like  a  threatening  sword 
hung  over  the  entire  Newton  interests. 

"We  may  avert  it  for  a  year,"  continued  the  father, 
"  but  if  you  are  wise  you  will  go  to  college  while  you 
can,  get  a  profession  and  be  feady  for  life." 

"  Yes,  it  is  the  inevitable,"  thought  the  stunned 
Richard,  "  I  will  go." 

The  college  selected  was  one  of  the  oldest  and 
carried  the  proud  prestige  of  being  one  of  the  most 
influential  in  all  America.  Long  lists  of  its  alumni 
were  holding  positions  of  honor  and  trust  through- 
out the  country.  While  this  remained  true,  yet 
some  other  matters  were  not  so  satisfactory. 

While  there  was  a  class  of  hardworking,  pains- 
taking students  who  were  making  the  most  of  their 
opportunities,  there  was  a  large  "  crowd,"  or  sev- 
eral "crowds,"  who  spent  their  evenings  in 
bacchanalian  revelry,  and  among  the  unsatisfactory 
results  was  the  fact  well  known  and  widely  com- 
mented upon,  that  many  students  went  out  from 
this  proud  institution  utterly  wrecked  in  morals. 

Richard  upon  his  entrance  was  soon  a  favorite. 
He  entered  with  energy  upon  his  studies.  His  fine 
physique  and  manly  appearance  won  for  him  many 


DEVELOPED  CHARACTERS.  113 

favorable  comments,  for  even  at  that  day  athletics 
were  coming  into  prominence.  Then  he  had  a 
certain  boyish  artlessness  or  frankness  which 
strongly  appealed  to  the  heart.  His  natural  orator- 
ical powers  soon  came  out  in  the  society  meetings* 
so  it  was  not  long  till  it  was  decided  that  he  would 
be  an  addition  to  any  "  set." 

He  had  gone  to  college  with  such  manly  resolu- 
tions. Perhaps  these  latter  might  have  been  helped 
had  he  chosen  a  college,  or  rather  if  his  parents  had 
chosen  for  him  one  which  had  cared  less  for  pres- 
tige and  more  for  the  morals  of  its  students,  one 
that  did  not  fear  to  stand  before  the  world  as  a 
distinctively  Christian  institution.  But  of  this  we 
shall  see. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

RICHARD    AND    LOUISE. 

is  a  fact  that  in  every  college,  however  small 
or  great,  there  are  at  least  two  "crowds"  or 
"sets,"  oftener  more,  and  much  of  a  student's 
success  depends  upon  the  set  with  which  they  be- 
come identified.  So  wrote  a  wise  editor,  and  so 
one  morning  shortly  after  her  arrival  read  Louise, 
and  reading  it  she  laid  the  paper  down  to  specu- 
late upon  the  truth  of  the  statement.  Yes,  it  was 
true;  even  her  short  experience  told  her  as  much. 
There  was  even  here,  she  recognized,  though  held 
in  check  by  the  high  moral  character  of  the  institu- 
tion, a  set  bound  by  ties  of  congeniality,  whose 
watchword  was  "fun  and  a  good  time."  If  they 
could  only  have  fun,  no  price  was  too  dear  to  pay 
fur  it.  Yet  there  was  another,  and  these  made  up 
the  majority,  who  were  hard-working  and  pains- 
taking, reaching  results  not  attempted  by  the  gayer 
crowd. 

Into  which  had  these  young  friends  of  ours 
fallen?  They  had  been  hard-working  at  home, 
they  were  not  likely  to  choose  idleness  now.  Their 


RICHARD  AND  LOUISE.  115 

sweetest  associations  outside  of  their  home  life  had 
been  found  in  the  church.  They  naturally  turned 
to  it  now,  and  ere  long  these  two  became  known 
not  only  as  careful  students,  but  consistent  Chris- 
tians as  well.  Louise  in  the  meanwhile  helped  and 
broadened,  as  it  is  not  hard  for  us  to  guess,  by  the 
companionship  of  that  refined,  cultured  young 
Christian,  Emma  Ward. 

Asbury  naturally  took  his  place  among  the  young 
theologues.  His  roommate,  Earnest  Warren,was  like 
himself  a  divinity  student,  yet  from  his  predilections 
it  seemed  not  unlikely  that  he  might  eventually 
find  his  niche  as  a  teacher  of  the  sciences  he  loved 
so  well.  His  home  was  in  the  State  of  Ohio,  and 
his  family  of  the  "plain  people,"  who  had  econo- 
mized that  their  son  might  have  that  lever  denied 
to  them,  an  education.  After  this  glance  at  the  as- 
sociates of  Asbury  and  Louise,  with  whom  it  is 
safe  to  leave  them,  we  turn  to  ask  what  of  those  of 
Richard  Newton. 

Among  the  great  body  of  students  was  one 
Will  Braceton,  a  fellow  of  rugged,  robust  build, 
and  withal  of  a  good  mind.  He  might  have  easily 
led  his  class  in  any  study,  had  he  chosen,  but 
he  chose  to  be  the  leader  of  a  set  which  was 
itself  a  leader  in  most  of  the  mischief  which  a  wild, 
fun-loving  crowd  of  unrestrained  young  fellows 
could  devise.  Had  they  been  contented  with  mere 
mischief  it  might  not  have  seemed  so  bad,  for  that 
can  be  forgiven,  but  it  was  no  uncommon  thing 


116  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

for  them  to  gather  in  Braceton's  room,  or 
some  place  of  his  appointment,  drink  wine,  and 
sing  senseless  bacchanalian  ditties.  Yet  much  of 
this  was  not  known  outside  of  the  company,  and 
with  many  Braceton  stood  for  much  that  was 
good. 

A  few  weeks  after  the  opening  of  the  school 
year,  at  one  of  these  "evenings"  in  Will's  room,  he 
suddenly  said,  "I  tell  you  what,  boys,  that  Richard 
Newton  is  all  right.  We  must  show  him  every 
possible  attention  and  win  him  for  our  crowd." 

From  that  hour  Richard  had  no  need  of  home- 
sickness, for  there  were  patronizing  friends  at 
every  turn,  and  very  soon  the  character  of  the  new 
friendships  became  too  evident.  Richard's  past 
experiences  instantly  warned  him  of  the  danger 
lurking  in  the  proffered  friendship,  and  he  was 
brave  and  firm  in  his  determination  that  he  would 
allow  nothing  to  interfere  with  the  steady  course  of 
hard  work  he  had  marked  out  for  himself.  Ah, 
had  it  not  been  for  that  caged  demon  of  appetite, 
which  having  been  fed  and  pampered  into  existence, 
angry  at  its  whilom  confinement,  revenged  itself 
now  by  wild  periods  when  it  clamored  to  reassert 
itself. 

Yet  without  special  incident  the  months  of  the 
college  year  sped  by  with  astonishing  swiftness  and 
the  summer  vacation  began  to  look  entrancingly 
near,  not  only  to  Richard,  but  to  Louise  and  As- 
bury  as  well. 


RICHARD  AND  LOUISE.  117 

One  day,  perhaps  a  month  before  commence- 
ment, Louise  and  Emma  had  gone  to  their  room 
from  a  rehearsal  of  some  music  for  commence- 
ment, when  Emma,  who  had  been  balancing  her- 
self upon  the  edge  of  the  bed,  said,  "  Louise,  I  tell 
vou  you  have  a  fortune  in  your  voice." 

"  A  fortune!"  and  Louise's  lips  curled  a  bit  at  the 
thought.  "  And  so,  Miss  Thrifty,  I  suppose  I  had 
better  go  on  the  stage." 

"Oh,  you  need  not  be  so  uppish  about  the  matter," 
Emma  replied,  with  schoolgirl  freedom.  "  There 
might  be  a  fortune  and  still  no  stage.  Our  church 
pays  Mrs.  Stanton  twenty-five  dollars  each  Sabbath, 
which  is  a  fortune  not  to  be  sneered  at,  with  no 
stage  to  bother  a  conscientious  little  Puritan." 

"  Twenty -five  dollars  for  a  few  songs,"  mused 
Louise  when  alone.  "  Twenty-five  dollars  Sab- 
bath after  Sabbath,  even  for  a  few  months.  How 
many  comforts  such  a  sum  would  buy  for  the  home 
folks.  Yes,  how  far  such  a  sum  would  go  towards 
defraying  the  heavy  college  expenses."  Louise 
resolved  in  her  heart  to  study  even  harder  to  bring 
out  every  possible  quality  of  her  voice,  and  if — yes, 
if  the  future  should  ever  bring  such  an  opportunity 
she  might  be  prepared  to  grasp  it. 

How  strangely  are  the  mingled  threads  of  our 
destiny  interwoven.  On  the  day  following  this 
conversation  Emma  broke  Oie  seal  of  a  letter  from 
home.  Among  other  items  of  home  news  was  the 
casual  one  that  Mrs.  Stanton,  the  soprano,  was  in 


118  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

rapidly  failing  health  and  had  been  ordered  to  the 
mountains.  The  next  mail  home,  unknown  to 
Louise,  carried  a  letter  extolling  Louise's  singing, 
citing  references  if  desired,  and  urging  her  father 
to  secure  the  position  during  the  summer  for  Louise. 
And  strange  to  say  (no  not  strange  either,  for 
Emma's  father  was  the  one  person  in  the  church 
who  had  this  matter  almost  solely  in  charge,  besides 
he  not  only  had  great  faith  in  his  daughter's  judg- 
ment but  had  grown  to  feel  a  great  interest  in  the 
sweet-voiced  girl  of  whom  she  wrote  so  enthusias- 
tically), a  letter  came  offering  the  vacant  place  to 
Louise  for  the  summer,  with  the  same  salary  as 
that  paid  to  Mrs.  Stanton,  with  the  added  assurance 
that  if  desired,  a  class  of  music  pupils  could  be 
secured.  This  seemed  almost  like  an  offer  from  a 
fairyland  to  Louise.  She  wanted  to  accept  it,  but 
then  how  hungry  she  had  grown  for  the  expected 
visit  home,  and  this  would  mean  another  year's 
absence. 

With  realistic  vividness  the  loved  farmhouse  arose 
to  view.  There  was  father  and  mother,  worn  and 
becoming  bent  with  toil;  then  there  were  the  boys, 
pretty  soon  they  ought  to  be  knocking  at  a  college 
door;  and  there  was  Ruth  and  little  Rose.  Yes, 
the  family  needs  were  imperative  and  certainly  this 
was  a  providential  duty,  and  she  must  write  the 
home  folks  and  get  their  sanction.  And  we  too  will 
follow  the  letter  bearing  this  question  to  its  destina- 
tion, the  farm. 


RICHARD  AND  LOUISE.  119- 

June  with  its  rare  wealth  of  beauty  had  come. 
The  great  rose  climber  which  yearly  changed  the 
whole  south  side  of  the  Stevenson  home  into  a 
bewildering  maze  of  beauty,  hung  full  of  great 
clusters  of  lovely  roses. 

Within  the  home  Ruth  and  her  mother  were 
busy  about  the  morning  tasks.  The  great  fireplace 
seems  a  bank  of  coolness,  for  Ruth  with  an  artistic 
touch  has  filled  it  full  of  tall,  fringe-like  boughs  of 
fullgrovvn  asparagus,  and  upon  the  red  bricks  of 
the  hearth  stands  a  great  old-fashioned  bowl  of 
roses.  Just  now  she  is  placing  another  in  the  win- 
dow ledge.  As  she  does  so  she  is  saying  to  her 
mother,  "I  can  hardly  realize  that  within  a  very 
few  weeks  Asbury  and  Louise  will  be  here.  Dear 
me,  how  we  will  welcome  them!"  A  tender  smile 
played  over  the  mother's  lips  as  she  replied,  "and 
we  must  try  not  to  think  how  few  the  weeks  of  the 
vacation  will  be." 

Just  then  the  sound  of  brisk  hoofs  echoed  from 
the  shady  lane,  and  Edward  soon  came  in,  saying, 
"a  letter  from  Louise!" 

Mrs.  Stevenson  sat  down  to  read,  and  read  with 
growing  wonder  the  offer  of  the  distant  church. 
Father  soon  came  in,  and  together  the  wonderful 
news  was  discussed.  "No,  they  could  not  consider 
the  offer."  Give  up  Louise  for  another  year! 
But  an  hour  ago  life  had  seemed  richer,  fuller,  as 
the  memory  of  the  sweet  girl  had  brightened  the 
little  room.  So  said  Rachel,  so  thought  the  father,. 


120  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

<md  so  said  the  brothers  and  sisters.  Rachel  took 
the  letter  to  again  read,  in  the  quiet  of  the  little 
back  porch.  What  a  tempting  offer  it  was,  after 
all.  Just  then  her  eyes  lighted  upon  her  husband 
who,  lost  in  thought,  had  leaned  half  wearily 
against  the  well  curb.  Yes,  he  was  growing  old, 
if  not  in  years,  at  least  in  toil.  How  bent  the 
form!  The  plain  working  garb  gave  no  hint  of 
the  strong,  honest  heart  which  throbbed  underneath 
this  uncouth  covering.  A  sense  of  the  superior  ad- 
vantages the  children  were  having  swept  through 
her  heart,  then  she  turned  again  to  a  paragraph  in 
Louise's  letter. 

"At  first  I  could  not  think  of  this,  I  want  so 
much  to  see  you  all,  but  when  I  remember  how 
hard  you  all  work,  and  how  soon  the  other  child- 
ren will  demand  an  education,  I  am  forced  to  be- 
lieve this  offer  is  a  Providence  and  that  I  ought  to 
go." 

Rachel  was  glad  the  inexorable  dinner  claimed 
her  attention,  that  she  might  rid  herself  in  action  of 
this  new  question  that  clamored  for  a  settlement. 
And  it  was  settled.  Another  day  a  letter  went  to 
Louise,  bidding  her  God  speed,  and  saying  per- 
haps it  was  best  that  she  should  go. 

Emma,  in  true  school  girl  fashion,  almost  went 
wild  over  the  decision,  for  it  had  been  her  greatest 
wish  that  Louise  should  accompany  her  home,  and 
now  it  was  coming  about  as  she  had  wished.  And 
she  gave  expression  to  her  delight  by  waltzing  the 


RICHARD  AND  LOUISE.  121 

highly   perturbed    Louise    about    the    room    in  the 
most  approved  school  girl  fashion. 

Asbury  had  known  nothing  of  all  this,  as  yet. 
On  the  very  day  this  home  letter  had  come  to 
Louise,  Emma  met  him  on  the  college  walk  (by 
the  way,  we  have  not  had  time  to  mention  it  be- 
fore, these  young  people  were  getting  to  be  extra- 
ordinarily good  friends,)  and  forthwith  proceeded 
to  tell  him  the  wonderful  piece  of  news.  He  of 
course  was  more  than  surprised,  and  with  the  sur- 
prise was  mingled  a  queer  feeling  he  could  not  de- 
fine. He  knew  it  was  a  trial  for  Louise  to  give 
up  her  visit  home,  a  trial  to  the  home  folks  to  give 
it  up;  still  it  was  such  rare  good  luck,  why  wasn't 
there  anything  he  could  do?  But  no,  his  duty 
seemed  plain,  he  must  go  home  and  help  through 
the  summer  on  the  farm. 

Loui.-e  dreaded  most  of  all  to  tell  Richard,  for 
they  had  counted  so  much  on  the  Summer  together, 
but  while  she  hesitated  a  letter  came  from  him, 
telling  her  his  father  wanted  him  to  take  a  western 
trip  as  soon  as  vacation  had  come,  and  look  after 
some  land,  which  would  take  perhaps  a  month  or 
longer,  but  that  on  his  way  home  he  would  stop 
for  a  visit.  Poor  Louise;  she  must  not  be  thought 
lacking  in  loyalty  to  the  home  folks  if  after  this 
letter  there  came  a  greater  reconciliation  to  the 
loss  of  her  vacation.  These  few  remaining  weeks 
were  given  to  hard  study,  for  she  determined  to 

9 


122  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

make  herself  worthy  of  Emma's  strong  commenda- 
tion. 

One  day  as  she  was  returning  from  practice 
Emma  came  rushing  out  to  meet  her,  saying  a 
stranger  had  called,  and  before  she  had  time  ta 
think  she  was  ushered  into  the  presence  of  Richard 
Newton,  who  having  finished  the  year's  examina- 
tions, and  caring  nothing  for  the  closing  exercises, 
had  come  on  again  to  be  in  the  presence  of  her 
whom  he  had  so  truly  loved.  Ah,  the  all  sufficiency 
of  those  hours!  The  skies  seemed  bluer  and 
brighter  than  ever  before,  the  lazy  flecks  of  white 
clouds  floated  above  in  a  dreamy  sort  of  way, 
strangely  indicative  of  the  present  completeness  of 
the  life  of  each.  Let  heartaches  cease,  let  fore- 
bodings for  the  future  be  still,  simply  to  be  together 
was  happiness  enough  in  itself.  Richard  found  that 
the  shy  country  girl  he  had  loved  and  won  had  in  a 
year  become  such  a  perfect  woman  that  any  man 
might  feel  proud,  even  of  a  glance.  Hard  study 
and  cultured  surroundings  had  done  their  work  well 
in  rounding  and  developing  the  person  as  well  as 
the  mind. 

But  his  greatest  surprise  came  when  he  heard 
her  sing.  Yes,  that  was  the  same  old  sweet  voice 
which  had  joined  with  him  in  many  a  duet  in  that 
far  off  time,  their  childhood,  or  in  the  later  years  of 
their  academy  life,  but  how  changed.  Had  he  ever 
dreamed  of  anything  so  full  and  rich,  and  with  a 
thrill  of  pride  he  said  over  and  over  to  himself, 


RICHARD  AND  LOUISE.  123 

"and  she  is  mine;  that  true  heart  is  mine  forever." 
The  wealth  of  Croesus  is  none  too  great  to  lay  at 
the  feet  of  such  a  peerless  creature!  How  annoy- 
ing the  fate  that  had  brought  his  father  to  such 
financial  straits!  Oh  well,  he  had  tided  through  a 
year,  perhaps  in  another,  his  feet  would  be  on  firm 
ground  again.  If  not,  this  woman  he  loved 
would  value  wealth  of  mind  and  of  heart  higher 
than  of  purse,  and  nothing  should  deter  or  hinder 
him  in  climbing  the  highest  intellectual  heights. 

Such  were  his  thoughts,  such  his  meditations, 
but  why  just  here  did  he  pause,  or  why  the  sud- 
den mantling  of  his  cheek?  Oh,  for  the  world  he 
would  not  have  Louise  know  of  the  coarseness  of 
the  Braceton  set,  and  most  of  all  would  he  keep 
from  her  the  fact  that  slowly  but  most  surely  had 
influences  been  at  work  till  now  he  was  an  ac- 
credited member  of  the  Braceton  set.  How  he  de- 
spised himself  and  his  weakness  as  he  remembered 
the  wild,  hilarious  evenings,  when  with  wine  and 
cards  he  and  the  fellows  had  had  a  "time."  Look- 
ing now  into  Louise's  clear  eyes  he  saw  the  danger, 
for  he  had  through  the  collegiate  year  often  argued 
to  himself,  "why  should  I  not  belong  to  their  crowd? 
They  all  come  from  families  that  represent  wealth 
and  culture:  besides  they  are  all  good  fellows,  and 
mean  nothing  more  than  the  enlivenment  of  the  dull 
routine  of  college  life."  What  if  there  were  wine  and 
cards  ?  He  did  not  expect  to  become  a  total  abstainer ; 
even  now  in  his  father's  cellar  were  bottles  of  choice, 


124  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

rich  home-made  wines,  and  as  for  cards?  Yes, 
there  -were  people  strangely  prejudiced  against  them 
but  the  shapely  white  hands  of  his  mother  had  first 
taught  him  skill  in  their  use.  Of  course  with  all 
this,  as  she  had  said,  "discretion"  must  be  used, 
and  he  prided  himself  upon  the  possession  of  this 
valuable  quality. 

Yet,  would  he  have  had  Louise  know  this  "dis- 
cretion" had  more  than  once  failed  him  during  these 
closing  weeks,  and  that  he  had  been  taken  to  his 
room  the  worse  for  wine.'' 

When  he  had  first  gone  to  college  the  Sabbath 
bells  awakened  thoughts  of  Louise  and  of 
God.  He  had  gone  regularly  then  to  church, 
for  while  there  in  some  way  he  had  seemed  nearer 
her,  but  with  the  flight  of  the  months  and  under  the 
influence  of  his  new  companions  he  had  gone  less 
and  less.  Yet  now,  looking  into  the  pure  eyes  of 
Louise,  he  was  conscious  of  a  desire  for  a  different 
life.  What  if  after  all  the  Stevenson  theory  of  life 
was  the  correct  one,  what  if  Aunt  Rachel  were  not 
a  fanatic.  He  had  so  often  heard  her  called  that. 

Yet  he  could  not  allow  such  uncomfortable 
thoughts  to  mar  this  week  of  great  happiness,  so 
lie  resolutely  brushed  aside  the  obtruding  thought. 
There  was  the  usual  crowding  into  one  little  week 
sermons,  lectures  and  addresses.  To  all  such  it 
became  his  pleasure  to  accompany  his  betrothed. 

One  evening  there  was  a  lecture  before  one  of 
the  ladies'  literary  societies.  The  subject  of  the 


RICHARD  AND  LOUISE.  125 

speaker  was  the  old  one  of  a  "  Woman's  King- 
dom," which  after  a  few  complimentary  prefa- 
tory remarks  concerning  women  as  philanthro- 
pists, reformers,  et  al.,  he  proceeded  to  show 
was  the  home.  One  sentence  burned  into  the 
brain  of  Richard  Newton.  It  was  this: 

"There  can  be  no  such  a  thing  as  happiness 
when  husband  and  wife  find  themselves  with  uncon- 
genial tastes.  The  home  is  a  superstructure 
depending  for  its  success  upon  the  complete  union 
of  two  hearts,  and  this  union  cannot  exist  between 
persons  of  tastes  diametrically  opposed." 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  nonsense!"  Richard  had  said  to 
himself  as  the  speaker  urged  caution  upon  a  young 
girl  of  religious  habits  who  found  herself  coming 
to  care  for  a  man  who  did  not. 

Still  in  his  heart  he  paid  the  compliment  to  the 
speaker  by  resolving  to  eschew  the  friendship  of 
the  Braceton  set. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  PREACHER A  SOPRANO FLOSSIE. 

'HE  week  passed  all  too  quickly;  soon  As- 
bury  and  Richard  had  turned  their  faces 
toward  the 'home  of  their  childhood,  and 
Louise  was  journeying  eastward  in  her  new  capacity 
of  wage  earner. 

Asbury  received  a  warm  welcome  home,  though 
the  joy,  like  many  another  joy,  had  its  bitter  edge, 
for  the  bright  young  girl,  who  should  have  accom- 
panied him  was  miles  away,  and  many  months  must 
elapse  before  she  would  brighten  the  home  with  her 
presence. 

He  showed  at  once  how  utterly  unspoiled  he  was 
by  going  to  work  on  the  farm  with  all  the  energy 
of  his  nature,  spurred  on  it  must  be  confessed,  by 
the  secret  thought  that  work  hard  as  he  might,  dainty 
girlish  Louise  was  doing  more  than  he. 

What  a  comfort  he  was  to  his  father,  and  how  he 
grew  to  lean  upon  him  and  to  place  more  and  more 
upon  those  broad,  manly  shoulders  the  burdens  of 
the  farm.  As  for  Rachel,  never  did  Hannah  in  the 


THE  PREACHER.  127 

sweet  old  Bible  story,  feel  more  genuine  mother 
pride  in  her  priestly  son  than  did  this  modern 
mother  in  this  her  first-born,  chosen  of  the  Lord. 

His  influence  too  was  felt  outside  the  home  circle, 
for  he  became  a  wonderful  inspiration  to  the  young 
people  of  the  church.  Indeed  it  has  never  been 
estimated  how  much  good  one  intelligent,  thoroughly 
consecrated  young  man  can  do  in  influencing  and 
holding  to  the  right  other  young  people  of  less  well 
established  principles. 

During  the  summer  an  event  occurred  which 
throughout  his  whole  life  served  to  bind  him  to  the 
home  church.  That  is,  he  was  licensed  to  preach. 
It  occurred  in  this  wise :  at  a  meeting  of  the 
church  officiary,  the  pastor  had  presented  his  name, 
and  the  necessary  papers  were  prepared  which 
gave  him  an  accredited  right  to  preach  the  gospel, 
his  mother  knowing  nothing  at  the  time  of  the 
intention. 

When  his  father  returned  from  this  meeting  he 
went  at  once  to  the  kitchen  where  she  was  at  work, 
and  thinking  to  surprise  her  said,  "  Mother,  you 
must  have  a  little  extra  for  dinner;  the  preacher 
will  dine  with  us."  And  she  taking  the  matter 
seriously,  indeed  knowing  no  reason  why  she 
should  not,  replied,  scarcely  looking  up,  "  Well, 
catch  me  one  of  those  plump  chickens  out  at 
the  barn."  Willing  to  humor  the  joke  John  went 
out  to  the  barn  and  soon  a  chicken  lay  quiver- 
ing in  a  vessel  on  the  table.  Leaving  the  dressing 


128  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

to  Ruth  Rachel  slipped  on  a  fresh  apron  and  went 
in  for  a  word  of  greeting  with  the  guest.  Greatly 
to  her  surprise  no  one  was  about. 

"They  have  gone  out  on  the  farm  to  discuss  the 
growing  crops  and  stock."  So  saying  to  herself 
she  went  out  to  the  kitchen  and  soon  an  appetizing 
dinner  was  spread.  In  response  to  the  dinner  call 
her  husband,  with  Asbury  and  the  rest  of  the  fam- 
ily promptly  presented  themselves. 

"Why,  where  is  the  preacher?"  asked  Rachel, 
looking  about. 

"  Here,"  and  John  Stevenson  laid  his  sunbrowned 
hand  upon  the  broad  shoulders  of  his  first-born. 

Happy  mother!  Though  for  more  than  a  year 
she  had  known  this  was  to  be,  yet  the  announct- 
ment  of  the  finality  thrilled  her  unaccountably. 
'He  was  near  her  when  his  father  bore  the  news,, 
and  she  bent  forward  wilh  a  kiss,  saying,  "  Having 
put  your  hands  to  the  plough,  see  to  it  that  with 
you  there  shall  be  no  turning  back." 

The  words  seemed  prophetic.  Years  after  when 
the  way  was  especially  rough  the  remembrance  of 
this  home  scene,  and  his  mother's  words  held  him 
closely  to  his  work. 

***** 

Richard  Newton  found  little  to  interest  him  with 
Louise  away.  In  a  private  talk  with  his  father  he 
learned  that  the  financial  outlook  had  not  improved, 
and  that  unless  something  unforseen  should  occur, 
the  inevitable  must  soon  be  faced.  Mr.  Newton,  a 


THE  PREACHER.  129 

victim  of  that  strange  cowardice  that  often  affects 
men  of  his  stamp,  had  found'  it  impossible  to  ac- 
quaint his  family  with  the  threatened  disaster,  and 
Richard  knowing  it  all,  looked  with  a  bitterness 
akin  to  anger  upon  the  luxuries  on  every  side. 

Upon  his  return  he  found  preparations  were 
being  made  on  a  lavish  scale  for  Marie's  weddingr 
which  was  to  occur  in  the  early  July,  to  allow  of  a 
western  and  mountain  tour. 

Her  betrothed  held  a  good  position  in  his  father's 
bank,  and  there  was  no  reason  why  the  wedding 
should  be  longer  delayed.  So  at  the  appointed 
time,  amid  a  great  deal  of  eclat,  Marie  went  out 
from  her  father's  home. 

The  Stevensons  were  among  the  invited  guests, 
but  only  Asbury  and  Ruth  were  present.  These 
returned  with  glowing  accounts  of  the  elegance  of 
the  lunch,  the  richness  of  the  bride's  trousseau  and 
the  value  of  the  presents,  among  the  last  being  a 
deed  from  Mr.  Newton  for  one  of  the  handsomest 
residences  in  the  town,  which  was  to  be  the  bride's 
future  home. 

After  the  departure  of  the  bridal  party  Richard 
too  took  a  western  train,  carefully  instructed  by  his 
father,  who  assured  him  that  upon  the  value 
of  some  western  investments  depended  free- 
dom from  disaster.  But  before  he  went  a  long 
letter  bore  to  Louise  an  account  of  the  wedding, 
and  assurance  of  his  undying  love. 


130  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

In  a  large  city  not  far  from  the  steady  plash  of 
ocean's  wave,  on  a  lovely  June  Sabbath,  a  young 
girl  awaited  with  a  beating  heart  the  hour  for  ser- 
vice in  the  great  aristocratic  stone  church,  which 
faced  one  of  the  loveliest  avenues  in  that  great  city. 
One  does  not  need  to  be  told  that  this  is 
our  young  friend  Louise.  She  had  known  be- 
fore coming  that  Emma's  home  was  one  of 
luxury,  and  that  the  church  in  which  she  was  to 
sing  was  one  of  the  best  in  the  city,  yet  country 
raised  as  she  had  been,  she  had  not  dreamed  of 
such  magnificence.  The  rich  mellow  light  stole  in 
and  was  filtered  through  the  translucent  mosaic  of 
the  windows.  The  very  tcho  of  her  foot  fall  as 
she  had  'glided  up  the  aisle  had  been  caught  and 
held  imprisoned  in  the  soft,  yielding  plush  of  the 
carpet.  The  pews,  indeed  every  appointment  of  the 
church,  betokened  luxury  and  wealth. 

Could  she  hope  to  satisfy  so  critical  an  audience 
as  worshipped  there? 

Emma  was  sure  that  she  could,  yet  Louise  had 
never  in  her  life  been  self-confident,  and  it  was 
little  wonder  that  she  trembled  in  anticipation  of 
the  ordeal. 

She  had  taken  her  place  early,  and  as-  the  audi- 
ence gathered  she  saw  more  than  one  curious 
glance  towards  the  new  soprano.  The  great  organ 
pealed  forth  its  most  sonorous  melody,  then  died 
away  into  a  gentle  accompaniment.  She  was 
about  to  sing.  The  book  she  held  was  open  at  that 


A  SOPRANO.  131 

matchless  solo,  "I  know  that  my  Redeemer  Liveth." 
With  the  first  note  of  the  organ  had  gone  up  a 
whispered  prayer.  For  answer  came  with  wonder- 
ful distinctness,  a  vision  of  home  and  the  sweet 
home  faith  ot  her  parents,  and  of  the  plain 
home  church  where  she  had  knelt  and  received 
knowledge  of  sins  forgiven.  Ah,  yes,  she  knew  of 
a  truth  what  she  was  about  to  sing,  and  without  a 
falter  the  clear  young  voice  took  up  the  refrain  and 
bore  it  aloft  and  sang  it  so  feelingly  that  the  audi- 
ence, with  a  first  gesture  of  surprise,  settled  itself 
to  simple  enjoyment.  She  had  won! 

As  she  sat  down  the  tremulous  plume  on  Mrs. 
De  Manderville's  bonnet  nodded  by  far  too  vigor- 
ously to  suit  the  usual  calm  poise  of 'that  lady,  as  she 
whispered  to  Mrs.  Millionaire  just  at  elbow  touch 
with  her,  "A  wonderful  voice;  yes,  a  wonderful 
voice." 

"Yes,  and  a  wonderful  amount  of  heart,  too,"  Mrs. 
Millionaire  had  telegraphed  back,  and  if  any  one 
had  a  right  to  recognize  this  last  named  quality, 
certainly  it  was  this  same  lady  for  a  great  many  of 
the  poor  of  her  city  and  the  interests  of  her  church 
accused  her  of  a  like  possession,  and  blessed  the 
thousands  that  accompanied  it. 

Louise  had  expected  on  coming  that  with  Emma's 
or  her  mother's  help  she  would  secure  a  good  board- 
ing house,  but  both  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Ward  would  al- 
low no  such  thing.  Their  house  was  large  and 
roomy,  they  said,  and  to  allow  Emma's  friend  to 


132  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

seek  a  home  elsewhere  could  not  be  thought  of.  So 
throughout  all  the  long  delightsome  days  of  that 
summer  Louise  was  an  inmate  of  this  luxurious 
home.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  came  to 
know  the  meaning  of  the  word  "leisure,"  but  her  in- 
dustrious soul  could  not  brook  the  enforced  idleness. 
So  she  talked  with  Mrs.  Ward  about  securing  a 
class  of  music  pupils.  Now  the  Wards,  though 
among  the  most  wealthy  and  cultured  of  the  great 
congregation  which  gathered  in  the  aristocratic 
stone  church,  and  wilh  a  little  touch  of  perhaps  ex- 
cusable pride,  could  look  back  on  several  genera- 
tions of  ancestors  possessing  like  qualities,  yet  no 
dwellers  in  cottage  or  country  farm  were  ever  more 
sensible,  nor  held  more  exalted  notions  of  the  true 
dignity  of  labor,  and  instead  of  discouraging  Louise 
rejoiced  in  her  disposition  to  work.  Mrs.  Ward 
went  at  once  to  Mrs.  Millionaire  about  the  matter, 
and  very  soon  Louise  had  a  good  paying  class. 

Nor  did  this  young  Christian  fail  to  identify  her- 
self wilh  the  active  work  of  the  church.  She  found 
that  this  particular  church,  luxurious  though  it  was, 
undertook  and  carried  on  much  practical  Christian 
work.  Under  the  especial  fostering  care  of  Mrs. 
Millionaire  was  a  band  of  young  girls  who  even  so 
many  years  ago  as  that,  made  for  their  special  ob- 
ject the  study  of  the  great  work  of  foreign  missions 
and  the  raising  of  funds  for  the  same.  Into  this 
Louise  entered  with  all  her  heart.  Years  ago  her 
interest  had  been  awakened  by  letters  from  the  girl 


A  SOPRANO.  ia3 

wife  of  a  missionary.  With  such  a  foundation  she 
developed  such  an  intelligent  interest  that  Mrs.  Mil- 
lionaire learned  to  depend  more  and  more  upon  her. 
A  passing  glance  at  this  lady  may  not  be  out  of 
place. 

Though  her  purse  and  bank  account  were  alike 
heavy,  yet  her  real  wealth  lay  in  her  active,  clear 
brain,  her  philanthropic  nature,  and  her  true  conse- 
cration to  her  Master's  cause.  She  had  been  for 
years  (this  was  before  the  era  of  separate  mission- 
ary organizations  in  each  denomination)  a  valued 

manager  in  the  Woman's  Union  Missionary  Society, 
and  of  her  great  wtalth  she  held  herself  to  be  but 
a  steward.  She  felt  that  her  best  brain  work  must 

be  done  in  using  this  for  the  advancement  of  Christ's 
kingdom,  and  was  never  happier  than  when  she 

found  a  young  enthusiastic  person  who  evinced  an 

interest  in  these  matters  that  lay  so  near  her  heart. 

Little  wonder  she  seized  upon  and  grew  to  love  the 

bright-faced,  earnest  }  oung  soprano. 

Thus  the  summer  passed  happily.     Her  singing 

gave  great  satisfaction  and  her  class  of  music  pupils 

gave  her  full  employment. 

The  Ward  family  consisted  of  a  younger  brother 

and  sister  besides  a  married  daughter,  Mrs.  Herron, 

the  mother  of  two   sweet  little  children,  who  with 

their    mother    were    often     at    their    grandfather's 

house. 

From  Emma  she  learned  that  Mr.  Herron  was 

a  lawyer,  his  father  Judge  Herron  being  one  of  the 


134  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

most  highly  and  favorably  known  men  in  the  state. 

The  young  pair  had  a  lovely  home  on  one  of  the 
boulevards,  but  in  an  indefinable  and  intangible  way 
Louise  found  that  there  was  something  wrong,  what. 
she  could  not  tell,  for  there  would  come  days  when 
the  young  wife  would  stay  at  her  father's  house, 
remaining  mast  of  the  time  in  her  room,  and  if 
seen,  her  eyes  would  be  red  with  weeping. 

One  day  as  Emma  was  driving  her  about  the 
city,  upon  one  of  the*  fashionable  streets  the  eye 
of  Louise  was  caught  by  a  large  and  beautiful 
building. 

Upon  inquiring  the  use,  or  name  of  the  structure, 
Emma  responded  with  more  bitterness  than  Louise 
had  ever  seen  her  manifest,  "  The  Devil's  gate- 
way." 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"Just  what  I  say.  It  is  a  fashionable  club.houser 
nnd  there  Tom  Herron  imbibes  the  demon  that  is 
killing  my  sister.  Yes,  I  believe  it  will  kill  her!" 

Louise  was  silent.  Could  young  Herron  be  a 
common  drunkard? 

Emma  continued:  "Oh,  I  hate  it.  I  hate  it, 
hate  it!  I  hate  everything  that  wine  touches.  I 
would  as  soon  marry  an  Asiatic  leper  as  a  man  who 
takes  a  single  glass." 

Why  did  Louise  start?  Why  did  her  heart  sink 
so  suddenly?  Ah,  but  Richard,  it  was  all  false,  he 
had  never  drank;  she  would  lay  down  her  life  on 


FLOSSIE.  135- 

that  certainty.  Still  the  vehement  words  of  Emma 
rankled  in  her  heart. 

This  question  had  always  seemed  so  far  off,  so 
remote,  so  associated  with  people  in  another  world 
from  her  own.  She  thought  of  her  good  father,  of 
her  brothers,  and  rejoiced  that  they  were  safe,  but 
could  it  be  possible  that  this  serpent  could  wind  its 
sinuous  way  into  a  Christian  home  as  it  surely  had 
into  the  Ward's? 

Perhaps  a  month  passed  and  the  shadows  seemed 
almost  gone  from  pretty  Mrs.  Herron's  face,  when 
one  night  Louise  was  awakened  by  a  noise  at  the 
street  door. 

"Oh,  let  me  in,  do  let  me  in,  quick!" 

"It  is  Lucy's  voice,"  said  Emma,  springing  up 
to  go  to  the  door.  Her  father  was  before  her, 
and  in  a  moment  the  trembling,  weeping  woman 
entered,  herself  half  clad,  and  with  sweet  baby 
Flossie  in  her  arms  and  Master  Harry,  these  two 
in  their  night  clothes  as  she  had  snatched  them 
from  their  cot  and  fled. 

There  was  no  attempt  now  to  hide  the  family 
skeleton.  Lucy  told  them  that  for  weeks,  as 
indeed  they  had  known,  her  husband  had  been 
sober  and  repentant.  As  usual  he  had  made  many 
promises  of  reform,  but  oh,  the  dreadful  appetite; 
how  like  a  caged  wild  beast!  "An  hour  ago,'v 
she  continued,  "he  came  home  wild,  beside  himself 
with  frenzy,  threatening  to  kill  both  himself  and 
me,  and  oh,  I  was  sure  he  would,"  (at  another  time 


136  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

he  would  have  lain  down  his  life  for  this  woman,) 
'•when  I  fled  through  the  door  with  the  children." 

Just  then  there  was  a  scramble  at  the  door. 
Louise  drew  back  in  horror  as  a  wild-eyed  reeling 
man  entered.  Could  this  be  the  elegant  Mr.  Her- 
ron,  usually  the  marvel  of  good  breeding?  Yes, 
having  missed  his  wife  and  dimly  realizing  in  his 
frenzy  that  she  must  have  gone  to  her  father's,  he 
had  in  his  drunken  fury  followed  her.  Before  any 
one  could  know  or  guess  his  design,  indeed,  it  all 
occurred  in  less  time  that  it  has  taken  to  record  it,  he 
wildly  fired  at  his  wife,  who  upon  his  entrance  had 
stood  with  Flossie  in  her  arms,  then  placing  the 
muzzle  to  his  own  heart,  fired,  and  fell  forward 
dead. 

Mrs.  Herron,  too,  lay  upon  the  floor,  but 
whether  killed  or  not,  not  one  knew  in  that  awful 
hour.  Emma  was  the  only  one  who  retained  her 
self-possession,  and  she  stooped  to  take  from  the 
arms  so  tightly  clasping  her  little  Flossie,  when  she 
suddenly  cried  out : 

"God  help  us,  Flossie  is  killed !" 

It  was  true.  The  bullet  intended  for  his  wife 
had  in  an  instant  stilled  the  infant  life,  but  the 
mother  was  unhurt.  Her's  was  the  harder  fate,  to 
awaken  to  a  knowledge  of  what  had  occurred. 
Words  cannot  picture  the  woe  and  desolation  of 
that  hour. 

Soon  the  bleeding  body  of  the  self-murdered 
man  \vas  borne  to  the  home  of  his  father,  but  a 


FLOSSIE.  137 

few  blocks  away.  The  young  wife  and  mother, 
in  a  darkened  room,  moaned  in  the  wildest  delir- 
ium, and  sweet  baby  Flossie  lay  a  mute  sacrifice 
upon  the  altar  of  strong  drink. 

Later,  as  Louise,  with  a  heartache  she  had 
never  before  known,  sang  the  sad  chant  over  the 
little  murdered  victim,  she  said  down  in  her  heart, 
"Yes,  Emma  is  right;  I  too  hate  it,  hate  it,  hate  it! 
I  will  have  nothing  to  do  in  all  my  life  with  any 
one  at  all  connected  with  this  horrible  evil." 

Ah,  Louise,  it  is  well  for  you  that  mother  nature 
gave  you  from  out  her  rich  storehouse,  a  will  so 
strong  that  had  you  lived  in  an  earlier  day  you 
could  have  stood  unflinchingly,  if  duty  so  demanded, 
amid  the  pile  of  lighted  fagots,  else  in  the  heavy 
ordeal  of  the  future  you  had  not  been  able  to  abide 
by  those  words. 

When  Louise  had  gone  for  the  summer  to 
Emma's  home,  it  was  with  the  confident  expecta- 
tion of  spending  the  last  two  weeks  at  home,  but  in 
the  coming  of  the  sudden  catastrophe  new  qualities 
of  heart  were  developed.  The  stricken  family  came 
in  after  years  to  look  back  upon  those  dreadful  days 
and  say,  "  How  could  we  have  lived  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Louise?" 

She  had  that  rare  faculty  that  instinctively 
sees  the  right  thing  to  do,  yet  her  helpful- 
ness was  not  that  obtrusive,  bustling  kind  which 
annoys  while  it  helps,  but  in  her  gentleness  she  it 
10 


138  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

was  who  could  best  soothe,  and  to  Mrs.  Ward  she 
came  to  be  a  tower  of  strength. 

Poor  Mrs.  Herron  lay  for  days  in  delirium  and 
then  settled  down  into  a  stony,  tearless  apathy  from 
which  nothing  would  arouse  her.  Her  friends 
feared  insanity. 

One  day  as  Louise  sat  in  the  music  room  she  saw 
her  glide  down  into  the  room  beyond  and  throw 
herself  upon  the  spot  where  little  Flossie's  coffin, 
had  stood.  Her  attitude  betokened  extreme  and 
hopeless  dejection. 

"  Shall  I  do  it?"  whispered  Louise  to  herself. 

"I  can  but  try,"  and  seating  herself  at  the  piano- 
her  clear  rich  voice  rang  out: 

"  Rock  of  Ages,  cleft  for  me 
Let  me  hide  myself  in  thee." 

Tenderly  came  the  words: 

"  Leave,  oh  leave  me  not  alone, 
Still  support  and  comfort  me." 

Could  it  be  possible?  Yes,  the  heartbroken- 
woman  was  sobbing. 

In  an  instant  Louise  was  with  her  pouring  forth 
words  of  comfort,  and  gradually  she  was  won  back 
to  an  interest  in  life,  by  the  sweet  power  of  Chris- 
tian song. 

#          #          *          #          * 

It  was  with  sorrowing  hearts  that  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Ward  watched  the  train  as  in  the  early  September 
it  bore  Louise  and  Emma  back  to  school. 

They  arrived  a  few  hours  before  the  train  which 


FLOSSIE.  139 

was  to  bring  Asbury.  How  vividly  Louise  recalled 
the  time  when,  a  year  ago,  she  had  come  as  a 
stranger;  now  it  seemed  everybody  knew  her. 
Grave  seniors  called  out  "All  hail!"  Professors 
gave  warm  greetings,  and  in  the  gladness  of  her 
welcome  the  pangs  of  homesickness  that  she  had 
felt  at  not  being  able  to  see  the  home-folks  melted 
away.  And  then  came  Asbury,  big  brown  Asbury, 
fresh  from  the  farm.  Louise  thought  he  had  never 
looked  so  handsome,  he  of  the  broad  shoulders,  and 
countenance  as  free  from  guile  as  her  own. 

Then  there  were  the  innumerable  questions  to 
be  asked. 

"Yes,  father  and  mother  are  well.  Father  not 
very  strong,  though." 

Ruth?  She  and  Edward  have  gone  back  to  the 
Academy.  Ruth  was  taller  than  her  mother,  and 
Edward  was  almost  as  tail  as  his  father,  and  as 
fond  of  books  as  ever.  Yes,  the  new  house  would 
be  finished  in  a  short  time. 

Oh,  yes;  Marie  and  her  husband  had  just  gotten 
back  and  settled  down  to  elegant  housekeeping. 

Therese  had  a  French  music  teacher  who 
squinted,  wore  glasses,  and  rumor  said  made  love 
to  his  pupils,  Therese  in  particular. 

Mr.  Newton  was  said  to  be  growing  richer; 
some  western  speculations  had  proven  especially 
good.  "But  I  would  rather  have  our  own  father 
and  mother,"  said  Asbury,  "rich  as  they  are  in 
their  good  qualities,  than  the  wealth  of  a  nabob." 


140  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

All  this  and  more  Asbury  poured  into  the  ears  of 
his  sister. 

She  had  yet  one  surprise  before  settling  down  to 
study  and  that  was  the  sudden  arrival  of  Richard, 
\vho  decided  to  stop  on  his  way  back  to  his  college. 

How  full  of  joy  the  hours  were.  How  full  of 
plans  for  the  future. 

Richard  hoped  in  another  year  to  be  able  to 
claim  his  bride,  so  each  went  to  their  year's  work 
full  of  hope  and  of  good  cheer. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THERESE — BANKRUPTCY. 

f**"^  EAVING  the  students  to  become  adjusted  to 
another  yeas's  work,  we  again  turn  to  the 
home  life  of  ihe  two  families.  Some  of  the 
news  so  briefly  epitomized  by  Asbury  deserves 
more  than  passing  mention.  The  year  on  the  farm 
had  been  reasonably  successful,  and  while  the  col- 
legiate course  abroad  and  the  academic  one  at 
home  had  entailed  extra  expense  above  what  each 
had  deposited  from  his  or  her  "  college  fund," 
yet  the  growing  family  made  such  an  imperative 
demand  for  more  room  that  Rachel  and  Ruth  saw 
with  extreme  satisfaction  the  lumber  arrive  that 
represented  two  good  front  rooms,  one  with  a  bay 
window  for  Ruth's  flowers,  and  two  greatly  needed 
sunny  bedrooms,  and  in  a  few  days  the  welcome 
noise  of  saws  and  hammers  broke  the  stillness  of 
the  country  air. 

Ruth  and  Edward  were  again  in  the  Academy. 
Ruth  was  now,  as  Asbury  had  said,  taller  than  her 
mother;  it  seemed  startling  how  she  had  shot  up  to 
womanhood.  From  her  earliest  childhood  she 


142  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

had  been  of  a  quiet  and  loving  disposition. 
The  busy,  hardworking  life  the  Stevensons  led  had 
a  tendency  in  itself  to  throw  each  child  on  its  o\\n 
resources,  and  particularly  the  care  of  the  younger 
children  upon  the  older.  Was  a  little  brain  puzzled 
over  a  lesson?  None  so  patient,  so  ready  to  help 
as  Ruth;  indeed  none  so  capable,  for  she  had  the 
gift  of  making  another  understand  whatever  was 
plain  to  her  own  mind.  Since  Louise  and  Asbury  had 
gone  she  had  become  the  family  reader,  and  many  an 
evening  was  made  enjoyable  as  her  low,  well  mod- 
ulated voice  read  from  the  current  literature  in 
which  the  family  were  interested,  for  though  the  old 
house  had  remained  small  the  library  had  grown 
with  the  family,  until  now  it  was  of  really  re- 
spectable dimensions  and  each  book  showed 
marks  of  frequent  reading.  There  was  one  work 
in  the  collection  which  marked  an  epoch  in  the 
life  of  Edward,  who  the  family  laughingly  in- 
sisted had  gone  mad  on  botany.  It  all  began  in  a 
little  paragraph  which  had  caught  his  eye  in  the 
early  spring,  which  in  an  entertaining  way  told  its 
young  readers  the  pleasures  of  seed  knowledge, 
suggesting  that  some  seeds  be  placed  to  soak  and 
the  result  watched.  Edward  followed  the  sugges- 
tion, and  for  a  time  the  various  cups  and  saucers 
that  sat  around  holding  sprouting  seeds  were  a 
trial  to  his  mother  and  Ruth.  From  this  simple 
beginning  he  had  become  really  well  versed  in  the 
subject  of  plant  life. 


THERESE.  143 

There  was  also  a  volume  on  mineralogy  which 
had  guided  in  the  gathering  of  quite  a  valuable 
collection  of  geological  specimens. 

Fiction  was  not  wholly  lacking  in  this  home 
library,  but  this  was  selected  with  the  greatest  care 
and  from  the  best  authors.  It  was  held  to  have  a 
proper  place  in  the  family,  perhaps  in  the  ratio  of 
sweetmeats  to  the  staples  of  the  table. 

Perhaps  the  reader  asks,  "  How  did  this  plain, 
hard  working  man  and  woman  come  to  have  such 
good  taste  and  judgment  in  literature  and  the  chil- 
dren such  fondness  for  it?"  Does  it  seem  unreason- 
able? Rachel  herself  would  have  told  you  that 
beginning  with  those  first  quiet  evenings  when  she 
and  her  young  husband  had  read  together  by  the 
blazing  fire  their  taste  had  grown  naturally,  and 
that  the  eccentric  (?)  friend  of  the  camp  ground 
had  builded  far  better  than  even  he  knew. 

A  feature  of  their  year's  reading  had  been  a 
•weekly  review  of  the  best  books  published,  so  they 
were  kept  informed  as  to  what  the  great  world  of 
thought  was  doing.  Moreover,  the  undercurrent 
of  this  reading  from  it  had  been  a  quiet  sermon  for 
higher  education,  and  they  had  been  led  to  plan  for 
their  children's  wider  education,  and  with  that  educa- 
tion came  the  natural  introduction  to  the  broad 
field  of  science  and  literature. 

Before  we  turn  to  others  who  are  beginning  to 
urge  their  claims,  we  must  speak  of  Edward.  He 
was  like,  and  vet  unlike  Asburv.  There  never  had 


U4  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

been  a  time  when  it  was  not  the  latter's  delight  to 
throw  aside  his  book  and  help  his  father  in  harvest- 
ing a  load  of  hay  or  reaping  a  field  of  wheat,  but  it 
early  became  evident  that  Edward  had  no  such  de- 
sires. He  did  his  tasks  conscientiously,  but  there 
was  no  pleasure  to  him  in  the  work. 

When  a  task  was  given  him  he  hurriedly  finished 
it  to  get  off  with  a  book,  and  in  some  quiet  spot, 
perhaps  the  hay  mow,  he  would  lie  for  hours  obliv- 
ious of  everything  else.  In  this  way  he  followed 
the  conquering  Alexander  around  the  world  and 
read  of  the  triumphs  of  Cyrus.  How  he  revelled 
in  Irving's  "Conquest  of  Granada,"  dreaming  by 
day  if  not  by  night  of  old  Moorish  castles  and 
buried  treasures,  or  became  a  living  companion 
of  Rip  Van  Winkle  and  Ichabod  Crane. 

John  often  asked  Rachel  what  they  would  do 
with  the  farm,  when  the  boys  seemed  to  care  more 
for  books  than  ploughing.  "Butj0«  will  be  fath- 
er's right  hand  man,"  he  would  wind  up  by  saying, 
as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  sunburnt,  honest  face  of 
the  young  John,  who  now  proudly  made  a  "hand'* 
by  the  side  of  his  father. 

***** 

"Mother,"  said  Ruth  one  day,  when  upon  her 
return  from  school  she  had  donned  a  work  apron 
and  was  helping  about  the  evening  meal,  "I  do 
believe  Therese  is  actually  in  love  with  Monsieur 
Les  Page,  the  French  music  master." 

"Impossible!"  replied    the    mother,    "she    knows 


THERESE.  145 

nothing  of  him,  besides  he  is   old,   old    enough    for 
her  father." 

"  Well,  all  that  may  be  true,  but  she  talks  of  him 
constantly,   writes    him    letters,    and    I     believe"- 
Here  Ruth  paused. 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Rachel. 

"  Well,  I  ought  not  to  tell,  perhaps,  but  a  week 
ago  she  came  from  her  music  lesson  in  the  music 
room  all  flustrated  and  she  showed  me  a  little  pink 
note,  heavily  scented  and  said  triumphantly,  '  Ediih 
Lancaster  thinks  monsieur  is  so  devoted  to  her. 
See  here!  what  would  she  say  if  she  knew  of  this,' 
and  she  showed  me  the  note  signed  by  the  pro- 
fessor." 

"I  tell  you  what  it  is,  mother,"  continued  Ruth, 
"  Therese  lives  in  a  world  of  fiction;  she  is  con- 
stantly imagining  herself  a  heroine  in  some  start- 
ling drama — you  know  she  just  feeds  on  novels." 

A  shade  of  questioning  anxiety  crossed  Mrs.  Ste- 
venson's face. 

"No,  she  said  softly,  I  wouldn't  dare."  A 
momentary  remembrance  of  the  old  Lynton  days 
had  arisen  in  her  mind. 

Should  she  warn  Margaret?  No!  She  had 
chosen  her  line  of  action  in  regard  to  her  family  as 
Rachel  had  hers. 

The  next  morning  Ruth  and  Edward  started,  as 
was  their  custom,  for  the  Academy.  An  hour 
later  Rachel  caught  sight  of  Ruth.  She  ran  out, 
exclaiming,  "Edward!  Edward!  is  he  hurt?" 


146  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

«  No." 

"Therese!  Oh  mother!  Monsieur  Les  Page 
and  Therese  have  gone." 

"  Oh !  if  it  were  my  child !  Poor  Margaret !  But 
I  dare  not  go  to  her,"  Rachel  said  to  herself.  Soon 
she  had  learned  all  there  was  to  tell. 

Therese  had  gone  the  evening  before,  ostensibly 
to  spend  the  night  with  a  friend.  Not  returning 
the  next  morning  her  mother  thought  she  had  gone 
to  school  so  was  not  alarmed.  But  when  mon- 
sieur's absence  was  also  noted,  and  some  said  he 
had  boarded  the  midnight  train  with  a  lady,  heavily 
veiled,  rumor  became  rampant. 

Still,  Mrs.  Newton  never  dreamed  of  connecting 
the  veiled  lady  with  her  daughter,  till  going  by 
chance  to  Therese's  room  she  found  it  in  disorder 
and  many  articles  gone. 

Sending  hurriedly  to  the  friend's  home  where  she 
was  to  visit  over  night,  she  learned  to  her  dismay 
that  she  had  left  there  between  nine  and  ten  o'clock. 

Yes,  it  was  true!  Out  from  a  home  of  wealth 
this  child  of  luxury,  hardly  yet  in  the  dawn  of 
womanhood,  had  flown  with  this  unknown  adven- 
turer who  had  proven  his  baseness  by  using  his 
position  to  win  the  love  of  a  foolish,  romantic  girl, 
rather  not  that  he  cared  for  her  love,  but  rather 
to  gain  access  to  the  reputed  great  wealth  of  the 
Newtons. 

To  attempt  to  portray  the  agonized  sorrow  of 
Margaret  in  those  days  would  be  useless,  with 


THKRESE.  U7 

her  old-time  characteristics,  she  closed  her  shutters, 
shut  out  the  sunlight  and  friends  and  bore  her 
sorrow  alone. 

Writing  Richard  he  could  do  nothing,  and  to 
remain  where  he  was,  Mr.  Newton  telegraphed  in 
every  direction,  employed  detectives,  but  it  was 
many  long  weeks  before  the  pair  were  located  in 
that  great  human  ocean,  New  York  City. 

Hither  Monsieur  Les  Page  had  brought  the  girl 
with  promises  of  love  and  protection,  and  here  for 
a  time  we  must  leave  them,  though  Mr.  Newton 
tried  by  even-  possible  means  to  get  his  daughter 
to  return. 

Therese  wrote  of  their  marriage  a  theatrically 
glowing  letter,  as  one  of  her  heroines  might,  of 
her  great  happiness,  lauded  to  the  skies  "love  in  a 
cottage"  (poor  child,  it  was  only  a  fourth  rate 
boarding  house,  but  then  cottage  sounded  better), 
and  closed  with  the  modest  request  that  her  father 
would  allow  her  her  patrimony,  the  latter  a  sugges- 
tion of  the  Monsieur. 

Cause  enough  for  sorrow  this,  but  it  lacked 
much  of  being  the  only  cause  Mr.  Newton  had  in 
those  days  for  anxiety.  From  the  earliest  pages  of 
this  history  the  business  ability  of  this  man  has  been 
praised,  but  for  years  not  content  with  the  slow 
gains  of  the  mill,  he  had  speculated,  now  in  west- 
ern, now  in  eastern  stocks,  now  he  became  a  large 
stockholder  in  a  western  railroad,  or  in  a  mine 
whose  output  promised  fabulous  returns.  Of 


148  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

course  much  of  this  speculation  was  done  on  bor- 
rowed capital.  This  was  all  right  as  long  as  the 
returns  were  all  right. 

But  there  came  a  change.  Stocks  that  he  had 
expected  to  rise,  suddenly  fell  and  kept  falling, 
involving  losses  of  thousands  of  dollars.  Try  hard 
as  he  might  to  keep  his  business  interests  from  the 
prying  world,  yet  undefined  and  ugly  rumors  had 
been  current  for  more  than  a  year. 

The  western  investments  Richard  had  gone  to 
look  after  the  last  summer  had  proven  good,  and 
he  contrived  to  have  a  local  notice  in  the  papers 
chronicling  the  large  gains  in  that  direction,  but 
these  proved  nearly  valueless  in  adjusting  matters. 
For  months  past  the  toils  had  been  tightening 
about  him;  promising  ventures  melted  into  thin  air. 

It  was  true  the  actual  business  of  the  mill  was 
still  profitable,  but  these  profits  in  comparison  with 
the  liabilities  were  as  nothing,  so  that  in  just  three 
months  from  the  time  Therese  fled  he  wrote  Rich- 
ard as  follows: 

"  In  another  week  all  will  be  over,  and  the  world 
will  know  me  as  a  bankrupt.  God  knows  I  have 
tried  to  avert  it,  and  tried  in  vain.  I  am  truly  sorry 
for  the  heartache  it  will  cause  others. 

"  I  have  secured  the  returns  from  the  western 
stocks  you  invested  in  last  summer,  and  I  trust 
these  will  be  sufficient  to  enable  you  to  complete 
the  course  of  study  you  have  begun. 

"I  am  thankful  I  secured  a  home  for  Marie.     She 


BANKRUPTCY.  149 

is  comfortable  and  will   know   no  difference  in  her 
life. 

"  Years  ago  when  this  trouble  first  threatened,  I 
secured  the  home  to  your  mother,  and  indeed  it 
was  really  hers  from  her  father,  so  we  will  not  be 
homeless. 

"  You  will  see  now,  more  than  ever,  how  neces- 
s:iry  it  is  for  you  to  arm  yourself  with  an  education 
and  a  profession. 

"  When  the  blow  falls  do  not  come  home. 

FATHER." 

A  week  later  there  was  an  account  in  the  great 
city  papers  of  the  failure  of  William  Newton,  of 
Burton,  owner  of  great  milling  interests. 

But  few  of  the  readers  cared;  men  were  con- 
stantly failing.  Yes,  a  mere  episode. 

The  local  papers  of  Burton  took  up  the  matter 
more  thoroughly.  His  enterprise  as  a  citizen  was 
enlarged  upon,  regrets  were  profuse  that  such  a 
calamity  should  have  fallen  upon  him.  Satisfaction 
was  expressed  that  the  beautiful  home,  long  a  cen- 
ter  of  hospitality,  had  been  for  years  the  private 
property  of  Mrs.  Newton.  The  rest  of  the  prop- 
erty Mr.  Newton  had  honorably  placed  in  the  hands 
of  his  creditors. 

Mr.  Newton,  after  the  news  had  become  public 
and  the  first  stab  of  disgrace  was  past,  experienced 
a  feeling  of  relief.  The  effects  of  a  blow  are  often 
easier  to  be  borne  than  the  dread,  and  if  it  had  not 
been  for  the  erring  Therese  and  two  other  facts 


150  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

William  Newton  might  have  been  happier  than 
he  had  been  for  years. 

One  of  these  was  that  his  wife  had  sunk  beneath 
the  blow.  It  had  come  upon  her  suddenly,  and  fol- 
lowing her  daughter's  ill  assorted  marriage  it  had 
proven  more  than  she  could  bear.  In  a  heavily 
curtained  upper  chamber  she  was  fighting  the  bat- 
tle of  life  and  death. 

The  other  reason?  Ah!  when  it  obtruded  itself 
into  the  sick  room  or  followed  the  sorrowing  man 
to  his  couch  (and  when  during  the  past  years  had 
it  not?)  involuntarily  he  cast  his  eyes  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  farmhouse,  where  this  very  night  he 
knew  a  peaceful  family  had  gathered,  with  no  other 
feeling  in  their  hearts  than  generous  compassion  for 
the  misfortunes  of  an  old  time  friend  and  neighbor. 

Read  on,  sweet  voiced  Ruth!  Unconsciously  to 
you,  you  are  the  central  figure  in  a  sweet  home 
group.  Father  sits  contentedly  in  his  easy  chair; 
the  knitting  in  mother's  hands  does  not  hinder  the 
close  attention  she  always  gives  when  you  read. 
The  brothers  are  grouped  near  the  plain  old  table. 
Read  on;  it  will  be  many  a  day  before  this  same 
group  will  gather  so  contentedly  again. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

JOHN,  THE  YOUNGKR. 

(C^|T  WAS  a  blustering  wintry  day.  A  heavy 
Ol  snow  had  lain  for  weeks  on  the  ground,  then 
cXy  had  come  a  warm  wind,  a  few  days  of  sun- 
shine and  it  had  melted,  save  a  few  patches  on  the 
hill-sides.  This  had  been  followed  by  another 
freeze,  and  now  this  morning  the  winter  wind  blew 
across  the  empty  meadows  and  whistled  noisily 
about  the  farm  house. 

Ruth  and  Edward  were  each  at  the  Academy; 
Rose  was  at  the  country  school.  John,  the  young 
prototype  of  his  father,  had  begged  to  remain  at 
home,  asserting  that  Madam  Blanch,  a  portly  Berk- 
shire dame,  needed  his  assistance  in  moving  her 
large  family  of  baby  Berkshires  into  better  quarters. 

After  the  morning  chores  Rachel  went,  where 
she  was  soon  joined  by  her  husband,  to  look  over 
again  those  wonderful  rooms  now  ready  for  occu- 
pancy, and  into  which  they  expected  to  move  next 
week. 

"How  Louise  will  love  this  sunny  room,"  Rachel 
was  saying,  "she  can  share  it  with  Ruth,  and  if  she 


152  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

brings  her  friend  Miss  Ward  home  with  her.  we 
can  at  least  make  her  comfortable." 

"Dear  me!  How  sad  was  that  terrible  tragedy 
in  her  home." 

"Yes,"  replied  her  husband,  who  was  with  her, 
';and  think  of  Newton.  We  have  so  much  to  be 
thankful  for  in  that  sorrow  has  never  yet  knocked 
at  our  door." 

Ah!  but  dear  hearts  have  ye  not  read 

"Into  the  life  of  each  some  rain  must  fall; 
Some  days  must  be  dark  and  dreary?" 

Care  such  as  you  have  never  known  is  already 
close  at  hand. 

Just  then  Rachel  passed  the  window.  "Why, 
father!  who  are  those  strangers  near  the  barn?" 

"Looking  out  John  saw  two  men  walking 
leisurely  about,  taking  a  careful  survey  of  the  prem- 
ises and  belongings. 

"Probably  some  men  looking  for  stock.  I'll  walk 
out  and  meet  them." 

So  saying  he  took  his  hat  and  started  to  meet  the 
strangers,  and  Rachel  being  left  alone  busied  her- 
self about  the  dinner. 

But  the  strangers,  whoever  they  were,  seemed  to 
have  no  business  with  Mr.  Stevenson,  for  by  the 
time  he  reached  the  barn,  they  were  letting  down 
the  pasture  bars  and  going  toward  the  woodland 
beyond. 

"  Father,"  said  younger  John  impetuously,  as 
they  surrounded  the  dinner  table,  "who  were  those 


JOHN,  THE  YOUNGER.  153 

two    men    who    were   walking   over   the  farm  this 
morning,  acting  as  if  they  owned  it?" 

"  I  am  sorry  I  can't  tell  you,"  responded  his 
father,  "I  supposed  they  were  stock  men  and  went 
out  to  see  them,  but  they  had  gone  over  toward 
the  woods." 

"  Well,  they  came  along  where  I  was  at  work 
penning  up  Madam  Blanche  and  asked  me  a  lot  of 
questions  they  had  no  business  to.  I  guess  they 
didn't  get  much  out  of  me." 

"I  hope  you  remembered  to  be  polite,"  inter- 
posed his  mother. 

"  I  guess  I  was  polite  enough,  but  when  the 
thin  chap  with  spectacles  asked  me  if  there  was 
any  mortgage  on  the  place  I  told  him  no,  and  if 
there  was  I  guessed  we  could  pay  it." 

Ruth  and  her  mother  were  yet  busied  with  the 
after  dinner  work,  when  there  came  a  knock  at  the 
door,  and  from  the  kitchen  Rachel  could  see  the 
visitors  were  none  other  than  the  two  strangers  of 
the  morning. 

A  forboding  of  evil,  she  scarcely  knew  what, 
seized  her,  and  both  she  and  Ruth  hastened  that 
they  might  know  the  import  of  the  strangers'  visit. 

No  need,  for  in  a  few  minutes  her  husband, 
white  and  trembling,  appeared  at  the  door  and 
required  her  presence.  Ruth  mutely  followed. 
»  "  Mother,"  said  John  Stevenson,  with  unconscious, 
rugged  dignity,  "this  gentleman,"  indicating  a 
florid,  rather  large  man  evidently  ill  at  ease,  "is  Mr. 

i  I 


154  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Hardin,  one  of  Mr.  Newton's  creditors.  This," 
indicating  evidently  the  'thin  chap  with  spectacles,* 
is  his  lawyer,  Mr.  Nevins." 

"  Did  you  not  years  ago  take  my  message  to 
William  Newton  that  I  could  not  longer  remain  as 
security  with  him  on  the  note?''  "Certainly," 
replied  Rachel,  "he  consented  to  the  change  and 
assured  me  the  name  would  be  removed  at  once." 

The  lawyer  took  from  his  pocket  a  leather  book 
and  from  its  folds  took  out  a  yellow  bit  of  paper. 
With  a  blur  over  his  eyes  John  Stevenson  read  the 
fateful  words: 

"  I  promise  to  pay  the  sum  of  ten  thousand  dol- 
lars with  interest  from  date,"  etc.  Signed.  There 
was  the  pen  flourish  of  Mr.  Newton,  and  the  unmis- 
takable, cramped,  plain  "John  Stevenson,"  and  the 
flourished  William  Newton  was  as  worthless  as  the 
vellow  paper  on  which  it  was  written! 

A  moment  of  choking  stillness  followed.  The 
old  clock  on  the  high  wooden  mantel  ticked  on 
loudly  and  bravely,  as  if  it  would  fain  avert  the 
coming  disaster. 

The  hickory  fire  that  glowed  in  the  great  fire- 
place snapped  and  sputtered,  but  the  living  actors 
in  this  home  tragedy  stood  or  sat  like  figures  of 
carved  marble. 

John  Stevenson  looked  in  mute  appeal  into  the 
faces  of  the  two  men,  both  of  whom  were  fidgeting 
and  moving  around  in  an  uneasy  manner,  but  there 


JOHN,  THE  YOUNGER.  155 

was  no  pity,  no  relenting.  They  were  there  to 
have  their  "pound  of  flesh." 

"There  must  be  some  awful  mistake,"  almost 
gasped  Rachel,  "certainly  William  Newton  could 
not  be  guilty  of  this  awful  crime." 

Ruth  with  clenched  hands  was  crying  piteously 
as  she  leaned  with  one  arm  over  her  father's  chair. 
Edward  stood  in  silent  wonder,  but  no  one  had 
noticed  the  fiery  young  John  who  suddenly  sprang 
to  his  feet,  and  with  eyes  blazing  like  coals  and  a 
face  with  the  pallor  of  death,  save  for  the  rugged 
tan,  placed  himself  in  front  of  his  father  and  said: 

"  Father,  what  does  all  this  mean?  What  right 
have  these  men,"  and  boy  as  he  was  they  were 
forced  to  wince  at  the  scorn  in  his  voice — "to 
come  here  and  annoy  you?" 

"  It  means,  my  son,"  and  the  father's  voice 
seemed  as  if  the  heartache  of  a  life-time  was 
crowded  into  a  second,  "that  years  ago,  for  old 
friendship's  sake,  I  became  security  to  William 
Newton  for  a  sum  of  money  which,  with  the 
interest,  will  take  every  foot  of  ground  belonging 
to  the  farm  to  pay.  He  assured  me  at  the  time 
he  would  only  need  my  signature  for  a  year,  and 
afterwards  gave  me  to  understand  that  it  was 
paid." 

"Oh!  the  scoundrel!  but  it  isn't  right,  it  isn't 
just.  Think  how  they  have  lived  while  we  have 
worked  hard  day  after  day." 

"  Go!"    and  he   turned  in  youthful   fury   to  the 


156  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

two  men,  and  flung  wide  open  the  outside  door. 
"Let  the  Nevvtons  pay  their  own  debts." 

The  men  arose  to  leave,  glad  to  escape  from  an 
interview  so  embarassing,  preferring  to  leave  their 
cause  to  the  surer  officers  of  the  law. 

Both  the  father  and  mother  were  so  overwhelmed 
with  this  calamity  that  they  scarcely  realized  John's 
brusque  speech,  and  were  only  too  glad  to  be  left 
alone. 

L,ong  they  sat  and  talked,  but  talking  brought 
little  relief,  only  serving  to  emphasize  the  direful 
fact  more  plainly  that  William  Newton  had  made  a 
promise  to  Rachel  which  he  had  not  fulfilled. 

"  Oh !"  moaned  Rachel,  "  if  I  only  had  not 
trusted  him;  had  insisted  on  seeing  for  myself  that 
the  the  note  was  paid  as  he  said." 

And  now  for  this,  her  mistake,  they  were  to  be 
homeless.  Carefully  she  recalled  every  incident 
of  her  call  at  the  Newton  office.  Mr.  Newton 
had  told  her  again  what  she  already  knew,  that 
"  the  money  thus  secured  had  been  used  as  an 
investment  in  the  rapidly  changing  financial  scenes 
in  the  early  days  of  the  war;  it  had  brought  good 
returns  and  had  been  invested  again  and  again." 
Yes,  he  had  admitted  it  had  been  an  act  of  busi- 
ness carelessness  that  the  original  note  had  not  been 
paid.  As  she  desired,  it  he  "  would  write  a  check 
that  very  day." 

And  she  had  believed  him.  For  herself  she  did 
not  care  so  much,  but  there  were  the  years  of 


JOHN,  THE  YOUNGER.  157 

hardships  born  by  her  husband.  He  had  never 
been  strong  since  the  hour  of  the  accident.  No, 
lie  could  never  make  his  way  again. 

The  afternoon  wore  away,  night  came,  though 
they  retired,  neither  could  sleep.  There  were  the 
children !  Rachel  sobbed  as  she  thought  of 
them.  It  was  true  each  had  their  own  college 
fund;  how  she  blessed  the  writer  of  the  stray  para- 
graph which  had  contained  the  suggestion,  yet 
unless  it  was  annually  added  to,  it  would  prove 
insufficient.  Would  they  finally  have  to  give  up 
and  come  home? 

Following  these  sad  reflections  came  the  thought, 
"Asbury  is  the  Lord's  own.  He  will  care  for  him 
someway." 

Ah !  if  that  is  true  of  Asbury,  why  not  of 
Louise,  of  Ruth,  of  each  one.  God's  own  are  not 
all  ministers.  He  will  have  his  servants  in  all 
walks  of  life,  and  the  first  prayer  that  had  crossed 
her  lips  now  rose  for  sustaining  grace  to  bear  this 
trial  if  it  came. 

God  is  always  waiting,  longing  to  comfort  if 
asked,  and  even  as  she  prayed,  peace  came. 

They  were  all  the  Lord's.  He  was  pledged  to 
care  for  them.  The  word,  "I  will  never  leave  thee 
nor  forsake  thee,"  still  stood,  and  David's  experi- 
ence as  recorded,  "  Once  was  I  young,  now  I  am 
old,  but  I  have  never  seen  the  righteous  forsaken 
nor  his  seed  begging  bread,"  was  comforting  to 
her. 


158  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Reaching  out  her  hand,  ah!  it  had  long  been 
wrinkled  and  hard,  she  clasped  the  still  browner 
one  of  her  husband,  and  whispered,  "John,  be  com- 
forted. God  reigns  and  He  will  care  for  us." 

"Oh!"  groaned  John,  "It  was  our  own  foolish 
act,  and  God  cannot  save  us  from  the  effects  of 
such.  We  should  not  have  allowed  the  years  to 
pass  without  knowing  that  what  he  had  promised 
was  done." 

"But  God  can,  and  will  help  us  bear  it,"  she 
urged,  and  so  comforted,  after  a  weary  while  they 
slept. 

Before  the  old  farm  horn  had  blown  the  dinner 
summons  the  following  day  two  things  had  hap- 
pened. One  was  an  interview  on  the  part  of  John 
Stevenson  with  the  man  who  had  so  cruelly 
wronged  him,  where  lie  learned  the  truth  of  his 
worst  fears.  Yet  he  had  come  away  with  a  queer 
feeling  akin  to  pity  for  the  wretched  man,  for  he 
said  to  himself,  "I  can  stand  before  the  world  an 
honest,  if  it  must  be,  a  penniless  man,  and-  there  is 
a  world  of  satisfaction  in  a  clear  conscience." 

And  it  was  true  William  Newton  was  an  object 
of  pity,  for  over  and  over  again  he  had  learned  the 
gruesome,  unwelcome  lesson  that  the  way  of  the 
transgressor  is  always  hard.  For  months  he  had 
been  cowering  before  the  hour  when  the  Steven- 
son's must  know  of  his  dishonesty. 

At  first  he  had  not  dreamed  of  a  dishonest 
act.  He  had  fully  expected  to  cancel  the  note  even 


JOHN,  THE  YOUNGER.  159 

before  Rachel's  visit,  and  certainly  to  fulfill  his 
promise  to  her,  but  even  then  the  web  of  entangle- 
ments had  begun  to  enwrap  him,  and  as  fate  would 
have  it,  on  the  very  day  of  her  call,  news  reached 
him  of  the  sudden  decline  in  price  of  grain,  which 
he  had  contracted  for  in  large  quantities.  "Well, 
the  very  next  week  I  will  do  it,"  was  the  promise 
he  made  his  conscience  when  his  last  available 
check  was  given,  not  to  free  the  farm  folk,  but 
other  more  clamorous  creditors. 

But  affairs  were  no  better  "next  week,"  and  so 
he  had  lived  on,  the  note  becoming  the  property  of 
a  bank,  whose  managers  were  wise  to  recognize 
the  value  of  the  plain,  cramped  signature.  During 
the  last  five  years  he  had  not  entered  upon  a  specu- 
lation without  promising  himself  to  redeem  the 
hated  note  with  the  margin, .but  it  had  been  impos- 
sible. Thus  often  do  the  results  of  our  actions 
widely  exceed  our  intentions. 

During  the  interview  he  had  sat  cowed, 
and  shrunken  Where  was  the  old-time  alertness, 
the  ready  joke,  the  hearty  good  fellowship?  Yes, 
such  are  to  be  pitied  "who  sow  to  the  wind,  for  of 
the  wind  they  shall  reap  destruction."  Thinking 
this,  John  Stevenson  left  him  to  his  own  sad 
thoughts. 

How  misspent  now  seemed  the  years  that  had 
been  given  solely  to  the  getting  of  wealth.  How 
fatal  the  mistake  that  had  made  him  merely  a 
"source  of  supply  for  his  family."  He  groaned 


160  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

aloud  as  thoughts  of  his  children  intruded.  Could 
he  hope,  dare  he  hope,  for  Richard,  handsome 
Richard!  though  possessing  talents  that  ought  to 
make  him  a  leader  among  his  fellows?  He  ac- 
knowledged now  in  those  hours  of  bitterness  that 
the  whole  bent  of  his  boy's  training  had  been  such 
it  would  be  nigh  impossible  for  him  to  resist  the 
temptations  with  which  he  was  surrounded. 

And  Therese,  blithe,  headstrong  Therese,  there 
could  be  nothing  but  sorrow  and  failure  in  her  life. 
And  Marie?  Perhaps  here  was  a  grain  of  comfort. 

No!  he  frowned,  who  could  feel  pride  in  a  vapid 
society  woman,  and  to  crown  it  all,  up  stairs  lay 
the  mother,  his  beautiful  Margaret,  tossing  in  delir- 
ium not  }-et  conscious  of  the  loss  that  had  come  to 
their  old-time  friends.  We  repeat  he  was  to 
be  pitied. 

When  John  Stevenson  arrived  home  after  the 
interview  he  learned  of  the  second  event  we  have 
mentioned.  A  legal  notice  had  been  served  de- 
manding the  immediate  payment  of  the  note  and 
the  interest  from  date. 

Why  go  over  the  details  of  those  trying  days? 
Rachel's  strength  of  character  had  never  been 
tested  till  now.  With  her  own  hand  she  penned  a 
letter  bearing  the  terrible  news  to  Asbury  and 
Louise,  telling  them  to  remain  at  college  for  the 
present;  that  their  presence  at  home  would  not 
help. 

To  her  husband  she  became  a  tower  of  strength ; 


JOHN,  THE  YOUNGER.  161 

when  he  would  have  sunk  she  comforted  him  by 
reminding  him  that  the  family  were  well  nigh 
grown,  that  somehow  food  and  shelter  and  the 
equally  pressing  needs  of  an  education  would  be 
supplied. 

No  one  guessed  the  tempest  that  raged  in  the 
heart  of  sixteen  year  old  John.  Of  all  the  children 
none  loved  the  farm  as  he.  While  Asbury  had 
dreamed  of  a  pulpit,  and  Edward  had  followed  a 
conquering  hero  around  the  world,  John  had  found 
his  study  out  under  the  blue  sky.  He  knew  every 
foot  of  ground  and  could  give  the  name  and  history 
of  each  and  every  animal  about  the  place.  A 
flock  of  sheep  ba-a-a-ed  at  the  pasture  bars  each 
night;  to  each  one  he  had  given  a  name,  and  it  had 
been  with  impatience  he  had  listened  to  the  state- 
ments "  that  all  sheep  looked  alike."  To  give  up- 
the  farm!  and  under  such  circumstances!  With 
swelling  heart  he  determined  to  see  Mr.  Newton- 
himself.  "  Father's  too  easy,"  the  children  had 
often  said. 

Soon  chance  favored  his  purpose,  for  he  was 
sent  to  Burton  on  an  errand,  and  once  there  lost  no- 
time  in  making  his  way  to  the  Newfon  residence. 
The  angry  blood  surged  through  his  veins  as  he 
trod  the  beautiful,  well-kept  lawn  and  beheld  the 
elegant  luxury  of  the  home.  A  servant  answered 
the  bell,  and  went  to  call  Mr.  Newton.  "No,  he 
could  not  be  seen." 

"  But    tell    him    I    must   see     him,"     said    John. 


162  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Again  word  was  brought  back  that  he  could  not  be 
seen. 

"Where  is  he?"  asked  John. 

"In  his  wife's  room,"  replied  the  servant.  John 
walked  out  as  if  leaving  and  the  servant  went  back 
to  her  work. 

He  well  knew  each  room  of  the  great  house,  and 
little  thinking  of  the  sick  one,  he  turned  and  sought 
the  room  where  he  knew  Mr.  Newton  was.  Soon 
his  low  knock  summoned  the  surprised  man  to  the 
door. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 


A  VISIT  -  A  RESULT  -  LEAVING  THE  FARM. 

HAD  to  see  you,"  explained  John,  who 
swallowed  back  the  involuntary  pity  which 
rose  as  he  caught  sight  of  the  haggard  man. 

"  It  is  a  part  of  my  punishment,"  the  tired  man 
said  to  himself,  as  he  wearily  led  the  way  to  a 
room  where  since  his  trouble  he  had  kept  some  of 
his  papers. 

"  Well,"  he  said  interrogatively,  as  the  door 
closed  behind  them. 

As  the  boy  had  gone  about  the  farm  yesterday 
and  as  he  had  ridden  in  this  evening,  he  had  longed 
to  meet  the  author  of  their  trouble  face  to  face. 
How  he  would  upbraid  him.  Ah!  he  had  felt  as  if 
he  only  lacked  opportunity  to  meet  him,  but  as  he 
beheld  the  pinched  face,  somehow  the  invectives 
died  on  his  lips. 

Yet  a  glance  upon  the  elegant  appointments  of 
the  room  recalled  him.  "  He  ought  to  sell  this, 
part  with  every  comfort,  for  the  debt  was  his." 
All  this  passed  through  his  mind  almost  before  the 
•echo  of  the  questioning  "well"  had  died  away. 


164  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

"  I  came  to  ask,"  and  the  sunburned  face  of  this 
boy,  clad  in  his  working  clothes,  shone  with  the 
righteousness  of  his  request,  "  if  you  would  da 
nothing  to  save  my  father  and  mother  from  being 
homeless,  all  for  friendship  to  YOU?" 

"I  would  gladly  do  it,  if  I  could,  but  I  cannot," 
and  there  was  a  hopeless  ring  in  his  voice. 

"  But  it  is  so  monstrous,  so  unjust,"  and  the  boy's 
face  flushed  at  the  thought.  "  Can  you  sit  here  in 
this  home,  with  all  this  about  you?"  and  he  swept 
his  hand  to  indicate  the  luxurious  surroundings. 

"  Can  you  allow  Marie  to  retain  her  home  and 
see  my  father,  now  growing  old,  lose  that  for 
which  he  has  worked  through  these  long  years,  for 
you?" 

Mr.  Newton  was  silent,  then  said,  "  I  cannot  con- 
trol Marie's  home.  Once  I  might;  not  now." 

"But  this  home,"  persisted  John,  "you  can  easily 
sell  it." 

Said  Mr.  Newton,  with  a  touch  of  impatience  in 
his  voice,  "Boy!  this  one  debt  for  which  your 
father  is  security  is  but  one  of  many.  If  I  would 
sell  this  home  and  all  its  belongings  it  would  not 
pay  the  thousandth  part." 

Poor  John  began  to  realize  the  hopelessness  of 
his  appeal.  "But  surely  there  is  something  you 
can  do;  something  left  of  all  your  great  property." 

"Nothing;  all  is  in  the  hands  of  the  creditors." 
Then  he  half  started  as  if  a  sudden  remembrance 
had  come  to  him. 


A  RESULT.  165 

"  Then,  Mr.  Newton,"  and  John  drew  himself 
up,  "I  call  you  to  remember  there  is  a  God,  and  He 
is  the  God  of  my  father  and  mother,"  and  with 
that  he  left  the  presence  of  the  man  who  had 
caused  so  much  trouble  in  his  home. 

The  youth  paused  for  a  moment  in  his  home- 
ward ride.  Before  him  stretched  the  loved  acres 
of  his  childhood's  home — his  no  longer.  Back  of 
him  on  the  banks  of  the  Illinois  towered  the  great 
mill  which  had  been  such  a  source  of  wealth  to  its 
owner. 

"  Well,  old  farm !  go  from  us  for  a  time  if  you 
will,  but  some  day  I'll  win  you  back.  Yes,  and 
more,"  and  he  looked  squarely  at  the  mill  which 
was  just  now  being  lighted  by  the  evening  sun. 
Then  touching  Beauty  he  cantered  home. 

William  Newton  watched  the  boyish  figure  as  it 
recklessly  strode  down  the  graveled  walk. 

"  Yes,  it  is  hard  for  them,"  he  said  softly. 
4i  Could  I  buy  peace  of  conscience  if  I  gave  them 
the. deed  to  the  one  thing  left  me?  So  poor,  that 
the  hungry  creditors  did  not  care  to  bother  with  it. 
Those  acres  of  arid  waste  in  Arizona;  I  thought 
they  would  have  yielded  me  gold.  'Twas  but  an- 
other bubble.  At  any  rate  they  shall  see  that  I 
have  done  all  that  I  could." 

So  saying  he  went  to  a  drawer,  drew  out  an 
envelope  and  with  a  few  strokes  of  the  pen,  made 
John  Stevenson  the  o\vner  of  a  tract  of  desert  land 
in  Arizona. 


1G6  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Putting  it  into  an  envelope  he  wrote  a  note  to 
John  Stevenson,  telling  him  he  hoped  that  in  the 
years  to  come  he  would  think  differently  of  him. 

Just  then  a  servant  called  him  to  his  wife's  bed- 
side. 

She  was  dying. 

About  the  hour  that  the  Stevensons  received 
William  Newton's  communication,  they  also  re- 
ceived the  news  that  Margaret,  his  wife,  had 
passed  beyond  the  pale  of  human  praise  or  cen- 
sure. 

"  No,  it  is  worthless,  absolutely  worthless;  you 
may  as  well  toss  it  into  the  open  grate."  John 
Stevenson  like  a  drowning  man  catching  at  a 
straw,  had  gone  to  a  lawyer,  asking  him  to  accept 
for  the  debt  the  deed  of  the  western  land  and 
received  for  reply  the  above  answer. 

With  a  heavy  heart  he  turned  to  leave.  Sud- 
denly a  sense  of  the  hopelessness  of  his  cause 
swept  over  him,  and  a  despair  he  had  not  known 
seized  him,  and  in  a  moment  the  worthless  paper 
which  had  brought  him  this  fresh  disappointment, 
lay  upon  the  smouldering  coals  of  the  grate. 

So  burdened  was  he  that  he  did  not  observe  that 
his  youngest  son,  who  had  accompanied  him,  as 
quickly  stooped  and  removing  it  from  its  perilous 
position  placed  it  in  his  own  pocket.  But  the  law- 
yer did,  and  smiled  at  the  boy's  independence  of 
action  as  well  as  at  the  shrewdness  displayed. 


LEAVING  THE  FARM.  167 

Rachel  awaited  his  return  and  read  the  result 
of  his  visit  in  his  face. 

It  was,  "we  must  find  another  home!"  In  after 
years  they  wondered  how  they  ever  lived  through 
the  trying  days. 

Added  to  the  thought  of  leaving  their  home,  was 
the  pertinent  query,  where  should  they  turn?  What 
should  they  do?  It  had  been  hard  to  make  a  living 
on  the  farm,  to  rent  one  seemed  a  doubtful  experi- 
ment. 

It  was  found  that  while  they  would  lose  the 
farm  they  would  be  able  to  keep  the  stock. 

These  it  was  decided  to  sell,  and  if  possible  get  a 
home  in  Burton.  And  then,  how  should  they  live? 
This  question  both  Rachel  and  John  turned  over 
again  and  again  in  their  minds. 

Jerome  Mills  was  a  member  of  the  same  church 
as  the  Stevensons,  and  was  the  grocer  in  Burton 
with  whom  the  family  had  always  dealt. 

He  was  possessed  of  a  great  longing  to  live  in 
the  country,  which  desire  became  intensified  by  the 
sight  of  golden  rolls  of  butter,  the  baskets  of 
fresh  eggs  and  other  farm  produce  which  Rachel 
was  wont  to  bring  in  each  week  in  exchange  for 
groceries. 

Hearing  from  Lawyer  Nevins  that  the  Steven- 
son farm  was  to  be  rented,  he  at  once  went  to  see 
if  they  could  not  make  a  trade. 

They  soon  arrived  at  a  conclusion.  The  stock, 
excepting  that  belonging  to  the  children,  should 


168  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

remain  on  the  farm,  the  property  of  Mr.  Mills, 
while  the  Stevensons  should  take  his  grocery 
business  and  rent  his  house;  an  untried  venture, 
•still*  it  might  prove  successful. 

John  Stevenson  was  not  a  man  to  delay  matters, 
•so  when  he  abandoned  all  hope,  he  at  once  made 
preparations  for  the  inevitable,  and  a  few  days 
later  two  large  wagons  stood  in  the  grassy  lane, 
into  which  the  household  effects  were  packed. 

Poor  Rachel!  But  a  month  ago,  with  a  light 
heart  she  had  planned  to  move  into  the  new  rooms, 
but  now  strangers  would  enjoy  the  comfort  she 
had  never  known!  Yet  it  was  not  for  these  she 
most  sorrowed.  Here  in  the  great  kitchen,  at  the 
table,  the  merry  group  of  boys  and  girls  had  gath- 
ered and  spent  the  meal  time  in  laughter  and  repar- 
tee. Here  about  this  hearth  her  little  children  had 
played.  In  that  little  bedroom  Asbury  had  been 
converted,  but  why  call  up  the  past. 

Like  as  unto  the  Israelites  of  old,  the  command 
had  come  to  go  forward,  she  could  trust  that 
now,  as  then,  there  would  be  a  pillar  of  lire  to  lead, 
so  without  a  tear,  (for  her  husband's  sake)  brave 
Rachel  Stevenson  went  out  from  the  home  of  her 
early  wifehood  and  motherhood. 

All  were  ready  to  go,  but  the  boy  John  could 
nowhere  be  found. 

Guided  by  a  mother's  instinct,  Rachel  went  her- 
self to  the  barn,  and  there  in  the  manger  of  Beauty's 
stall,  with  his  arms  about  the  wondering  animal's 


LEAVING  THE  FARM.  169 

neck,  poor  John  was  giving  away  to  the  wild  aban- 
donment of  grief. 

The  sight  moved  his  mother  as  nothing  else,  and 
sitting  down  they  wept  together.  But  time  moves 
inexorably  on  and  pays  little  heed  to  tears  and  the 
pawing  teams  were  ready  to  start,  so  at  last  they 
rose  to  go,  when  John,  who  looked  like  a  hero — 
even  in  his  blue  shirt  and  cotton  pants — said,  "I'll 
have  it  back,  every  acre  of  it;  every  acre  of  it." 

A  few  days  after  they  had  gotten  settled  they 
were  surprised  by  a  call  from  the  director  of  what 
had  been  their  home  school.  He  soon  made  his 
errand  known.  It  was  that  their  township  had 
requested  the  services,  of  Ruth  to  teach  the  spring 
school.  This  young  lady  at  first  demurred  on 
account  of  fancied  inability,  but  yielded,  and  ere- 
long seemed  to  have  found  her  niche  in  the  plain 
little  school  room. 

Edward  remained  in  the  Academy,  while  John 
found  enough  to  keep  him  busy  helping  his  father 
get  adjusted  to  the  new  work  of  the  store. 

Like  a  patient  mother  bird  that  sees  its  nest 
broken  and  despoiled,  yet  patiently  goes  to  work  to 
repair  the  breach,  so  this  other  mother  began  the 
work  of  building  a  new  home,  under  surroundings 
so  different  from  the  past. 

The  task  was  not  so  hard  after  all,  for  had  they 
not  each  other?  and  it  was  with  genuine  sorrow  that 
they  thought  of  the  lonely  man  in  the  great  house, 
who  weeks  before  had  sadly  followed  his  beautiful 

12 


170  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Margaret  out  from  the  door  of  her  luxurious  home 
to  the  stillness  of  the  grave. 

Richard  had  come  to  his  mother's  burial,  and  after 
coming  home  from  the  last  sad  rites  he  learned  for 
the  first  time  of  the  Stevenson's  loss.  He  was 
shocked,  overwhelmed,  and  felt  this  more  than  the 
loss  of  his  father's  entire  fortune. 

How  could  Louise  forgive  this?  Would  not  the 
very  name  of  Newton  be  the  synonym  for  every- 
thing despicable?  How  he  longed  in  the  few  days 
of  his  stay  to  go  to  the  farmhouse  and  express  his 
sympathy  and  sorrow,  but  he  durst  not.  He 
resolved,  though,  as  it  seemed  best  for  him  to  finish 
his  collegiate  year,  that  on  his  return  he  would  stop 
at  the  University  and  learn  his  fate  from  the  lips  of 
her  who,  now  that  such  sorrows  had  swept  in  on 
him,  seemed  all  that  was  left  of  life. 

His  heart,  yes,  and  his  pride  mourned  for 
Therese,  for  she  had  been  his  favorite.  He  could 
have  borne  without  a  murmur  the  mere  loss  of 
property  for  youth  is  strong,  brave  and  hopeful,  but 
then  came  the  death  of  his  mother,  that  beautiful, 
gracious  being  whose  life  had  been  the  one  ques- 
tion, "What  will  make  my  children  most  happy?" 

She  may  have  erred  in  answering  the  question, 
but  kindness,  love  and  gentleness  had  marked  her 
rule,  and  over  her  coffin  Richard  first  tasted  the 
bitterness  of  sorrow. 

It  would  be  hard  to  depict  the  sorrow,  the  indig- 


LEAVING  THE  FARM.  171 

nation  and  the  anxiety  which  both  Asbury  and 
Louise  carried  in  their  hearts  in  these  days. 

To  give  up  the  home,  the  fruit  of  honest  toil,  for 
another,  to  go  out  into  the  world  well  nigh  penni- 
less! Imagination  refused  to  take  in  the  thought 
that  now,  at  this  very  time,  the  family  were  leaving 
the  old  home.  Each  felt  that  to  remain  in  school 
was  out  of  the  question.  If  they  were  home,  surely 
they  might  help  in  some  way.  This  they  wrote. 

Promptly  came  the  message  from  father  and 
mother,  "The  one  bit  of  silver  lining  to  this  cloud 
is  that  you  are  each  so  nearly  ready  for  your  life 
work.  If  you  love  us,  stay  where  you  are,  and 
make  the  most  of  each  day.  This  thought  will 
bear  us  up  as  nothing  else  will." 

The  wisdom  of  this  was  apparent,  but  they  could 
scarcely  study  harder  than  before,  for  they  were 
already  known  among  the  best  of  the  University. 

As  Louise  was  going  to  her  room  from  recita- 
tion, one  day  about  a  week  after  the  receipt  of  the 
news  from  home,  a  note  was  handed  to  her.  It 
read: 

" LOUISE:  I  have  been  to  my  mother's  burial.  I 
cannot  go  back  to  school  without  seeing  you.  You 
have  a  right  to  hate  our  very  name,  but  will  you 
not  see  me?  RICHARD." 

Louise  read,  wondering.  Could  it  be?  "His 
mother  dead,  and  he  in  town?  And  he  thinks  I 
blame  him.  Poor,  unhappy  Richard!  No!  What 


172  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

had  he  to  do  with  this?  Nothing."  And  with  a 
longing  to  look  into  his  face,  she  wrote: 

"Dear  Richard:     Come." 

An  hour  later  these  two,  the  current  of  whose 
lives  had  flown  together  since  childhood  and  which 
in  these  later  years  had  been  indissolubly  knit  to- 
gether in  that  strange  tie,  stronger  than  death  itself, 
which  for  lack  of  a  better  word  we  call  "  love," 
were  together. 

Richard  had  been  moved  deeper  than  he  knew 
by  the  sad  succession  of  events  of  the  past  few 
weeks,  and  it  was  no  unmanly  thing  that  on  catch- 
ing sight  of  the  bright  true  face  so  dear  to  him, 
and  just  now  radiant  with  the  divine  light  of  sym- 
pathy, he  should  sink  into  a  chair  and  weep  again, 
as  he  had,  over  his  mother's  coffin. 

Then  began  the  divine  ministry  of  woman's  love 
to  bind  up  the  bruised  and  broken  hearted. 

Tenderly  she  drew  from  him  the  story  of  his 
mother's  death,  of  which  she  had  not  heard.  With 
tact  she  made  him  understand  that  she  imputed  no 
intentional  wrong  to  the  sorrowing  father,  who  now 
was  certainly  an  object  of  pity  to  the  most  careless. 
;  •  With  a  hope  she  hardly  dared  feel  she  pictured 
the  future  of  her  own  father  and  mother,  and 
urged  him  to  make  the  most  of  himself  by  making 
the  most  of  the  remaining  months  in  college. 

How  she  longed  to  ask  him  if  in  these  sorrows 
he  had  gone  to  the  great  Source  of  comfort,  but  she 
remembered  that  if  such  matters  were  not  actually 


LEAVING  THE  FARM.  173 

scoffed  at,  they  were  held  with  indifference  by 
members  of  the  Newton  home. 

Well,  in  later  years  he  should  learn  her  own 
sweet  faith. 

Foolish  Louise!  A  thousand  unhappy  wives 
would  bear  testimony  to  the  futility  of  that  hope. 

Listening  to  her,  Richard  felt  his  dejection  slip- 
ping away.  Yes,  life  was  still  rich,  for  it  held 
Louise. 

He  told  her  how  in  another  year  he  would  enter 
a  law  office.  "  And,  Louise,"  said  he,  "  believe 
me,  my  first  care  shall  be  to  see  that  this  loss  of 
yours  shall  be  made  good." 

As  he  read  in  her  eyes  the  devotion  of  her  heart, 
a  great  sense  of  shame  swept  over  him  that  he  was 
not  more  worthy  of  her.  Looking  into  her  eyes, 
how  easy  seemed  the  right.  Ah,  how  he  hated 
Braceton;  how  like  a  Nemesis  arose  the  remem- 
brance of  the  hours  spent  in  his  company. 

He  was  not  going  until  a  late  evening  train. 
There  was  to  be  an  open  meeting  of  the  Literary 
Society  to  which  Louise  belonged,  and  to  change 
the  sad  drift  of  his  thoughts  she  insisted  that  he 
attend.  She  had  promised  a  song  for  the  occasion, 
and  for  more  than  a  week  had  been  practicing  the 
high  warbling  notes  of  a  solo  in  a  new  popular 
opera.  Scarcely  had  the  last  note  died  away  when 
the  vigorous  prolonged  encore  gave  her  the  cov- 
eted opportunity,  and  the  rich  clear  voice  took  up 
that  blessed  hvmn  of  comfort  which  has  soothed 


174  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

so  many  sorrowing  ones,    "  Come  ye  disconsolate." 

As  she  sang, 

"  Earth  has  no  sorrow 

That  heaven  cannot  heal," 

little  wonder  that  the  company  listened  in  awe  at  the 
pathos,  for  with  every  note  there  was  a  prayer  that 
her  lover  might  test  this  truth  for  himself.  Sitting 
there,  unconscious  of  the  prayer,  Richard  resolved 
to  do  this  very  thing,  and  from  this  very  hour  to 
live  an  earnest  Christian  life.  Alas,  had  it  not 
been  for  Braceton;  alas,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
inexorable  reaping  from  the  sowings  of  the  past. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

GETTING  SETTLED LIFE  IN  A  COLLEGE  CLUB. 

§PRINGTIME  had  come,  and  other  hands  than 
the  Stevensons  were  sowing  the  home  acres. 
<?&  It  is  always  hard  for  a  man  late  in  life  to 
change  his  business;  *it  was  doubly  so  for  John 
Stevenson. 

Brought  up  on  a  farm,  spending  his  life  there,  in 
that  place  he  was  at  home,  but  as  for  a  "store,"  he 
felt  out  of  place,  awkward,  having  scarcely  any 
adaptability  for  it,  but  something  had  to  be  done, 
and  this  had  seemed  to  be  the  "something"  that 
offered. 

If  this  were  true  of  himself,  it  was  hardly  so  with 
the  boys.  Edward  had  remained  in  the  Academy, 
it  being  his  last  year,  but  there  were  the  long  morn- 
ings and  evenings,  which  he  took  largely  to  famil- 
iarize himself  with  the  new  business,  and  gradually 
the  whole  of  the  book-keeping  fell  into  his  hands. 

John  became  in  this  new  business  his  father's 
most  valued  helper.  At  first  he  chafed  at  the 
confinement  and  groaned  in  his  soul  as  he  longed 


176  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

to  be  on  the  farm  again.  But  he  soon  began  to 
develop  genuine  business  instinct,  and,  young  as  he 
was,  his  father  learned  to  rely  upon  him  as  the  pur- 
chaser ot  supplies.  Known  to  all  his  acquaintances 
as  a  man  of  sterling  honesty,  having  their  sympathy 
in  his  loss,  it  was  not  strange  that  customers  flocked 
to  the  new  venture  and  that  erelong  the  mere  ques- 
tion of  an  honest  living  was  assured. 

Nor  did  the  wife  find  the  task  of  adjusting  herself 
to  the  new  home  a  difficult  one.  It  will  be  remem- 
bered the  coveted  new  rooms  at  the  farmhouse  had 
been  unoccupied.  The  Mills'  home  was  anew  and 
well  built  cottage,  with  much  more  room  and  many 
more  conveniences  than  she  had  known.  "But, 
alas!"  thought  both  she  and  her  husband,  "to  live 
in  a  home  that  is  not  our  own." 

Yet  the  home  touches  were  not  long  in  asserting 
themselves,  nor  the  living  room  in  taking  on  a  cozy 
home  air.  There  were  two  good-sized  southern 
windows  which  before  many  months  what  with 
hanging  vines  and  blooming  flowers  were  marvels 
of  beauty.  Between  these  were  arranged  the 
shelves  for  books.  And  from  these,  their  old  worn 
friends — the  books  of  the  year's  gathering — soon 
greeted  them,  and  their  greeting  seemed  well  nigh 
human.  Ah,  they  had  not  lost  all.  Indeed,  though 
everything  else  should  have  been  swept  away,  the 
past  with  its  rich  associations  was  forever  theirs. 
And  with  that  past,  indeed  one  of  its  strongest 
factors,  were  these  same  silent  friends  who  had 


GETTING  SETTLED.  Ill 

now  followed  them  into  the  uncertainties  of  the 
present. 

In  a  corner  of  the  room  Edward's  individual 
tastes  asserted  themselves.  In  a  cabinet  of  his  own 
making,  with  a  plain  glass  front,  was  his  collection 
of  botanical  specimens.  One  more  deeply  skilled 
than  he  might  have  called  many  of  these  worthless,, 
but  in  their  broadening,  educating  influence  upon 
the  boy  himself  in  the  sweet  spell  which  their  col- 
lecting had  thrown  over  him,  keeping  him  from 
possible  rude  associates  and  in  opening  to  him  the 
riches  of  nature,  Rachel  would  have  been  slow  to 
pronounce  the  most  insignificant  one  worthless. 

Accustomed  on  the  farm  to  much  "  outside 
work,"  the  home  keeping  in  the  Mills' home  seemed 
a  very  light  affair,  and  it  was  well,  for  the  years- 
together  with  the  events  of  the  last  few  months 
were  telling  plainly  on  the  strong  factor  of  the 
whole,  the  house  mother. 

As  for  the  college  students,  it  had  been  hard  for 
them  to  remain  at  their  post  amid  all  these  harrow- 
ing changes,  but  the  home  commands  were  impera- 
tive. Yet  each  felt  something  must  be  done* 
But  what?  Asbury's  expenses  were  already  at  a 
minimum,  thanks  to  the  student  club  of  which  he 
was  a  member,  but  Louise  with  Emma  had  found 
a  delightfully  congenial  home  which  had  opened  its 
doors  to  the  students  and  where  she  had  remained 
during  her  entire  stay  in  the  college.  But  why 
should  she  not  try  Asbury's  plan  ?  That  which  she 


178  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

most  dreaded  was  the  losing  of  Emma's  sweet 
companionship,  for  without  the  slightest  need  for 
economy  there  would  be  little  use  for  her  to  take 
any  discomfort  upon  herself. 

Among  the  worshippers  at  the  same  church  with 
Louise  was  a  very  tall,  angular  woman  with  that 
peculiar  snappy  kind  of  black  eyes  which  seem  to 
be  continually  upon  the  lookout  for  a  fault.  Her 
husband  had  grown  tired  of  life  years  before,  and 
left  her  with  the  care  of  a  large  family,  all  girls, 
and  a  bit  of  property  in  the  country.  She  had 
sold  her  country  property  and  invested  in  an  old 
rambling  house  in  the  town  whose  only  recommen- 
dation was  the  great  number  of  rooms  it  con- 
tained. She  had  hoped  to  earn  her  livelihood  in 
the  time-honored  way  of  keeping  boarders,  but 
there  were  so  many  cheery  homes  open  was  it 
any  wonder  the  students  passed  this  sharp- visaged 
woman  and  her  roomy  house  by?  Her  latest 
ambition  had  been  to  organize  a  "  girl's  club,'' 
whereby  college  expenses  might  be  considerably 
lessened  for  girls  as  well  as  their  brothers.  Indeed, 
at  the  time  when  Louise  began  to  cast  about  for  a 
plan  to  economize,  a  small  club  of  the  kind  was 
already  in  operation. 

Perhaps  it  may  be  as  well  to  state  here  that 
owing  to  the  wise  foresight  of  her  father  in  his 
plan  for  the  "college  fund,"  this  was  fortunately 
not  necessary,  yet  with  the  air  of  a  martyr  Louise 
went  on  a  tour  of  inspection,  feeling  very  grand 


LIFE  IN  A  COLLEGE  CLUB.  179 

and  self-sacrificing.  The  outlook  at  Mrs.  Hov- 
son's  (the'  club  manager)  seemed  dreary  enough, 
tiven  for  the  most  pronounced  martyrdom,  but 
this  suited  her  present  mood  better  than  sun- 
shine and  cheer,  and  as  she  might  have  signed  her 
own  death  warrant  she  made  the  arrangements  for 
the  change. 

There  remained  yet  one  task  itself,  of  no.  small 
magnitude,  and  that  was  to  acquaint  Emma  with 
her  decision. 

That  evening  the  girls  were  sitting  in  their  cosy 
room,  apparently  busy  in  the  lessons  for  the  next 
day.  After  Louise  had  gotten  up  the  seventh 
time  to  punch  a  fire  that  was  already  glowing 
brightly,  and  had  walked  several  times  to  the  win- 
dow and  beaten  a  tattoo  on  the  panes,  Emma  tossed 
her  book  aside  and  said,  "You  might  as  well  out 
with  it  whatever  it  is.  Have  you  in  a  sudden 
gust  of  passion  murdered  some  one,  and  is  the  wraith 
making  you  uncomfortable?  Come,  unburden  your 
heart  to  the  one  that  loves  you."  Emma  had 
struck  a  mock  heroic  attitude,  and  seemed  to  be  lis- 
tening intently  for  a  confession  she  expected  would 
chill  the  very  marrow  in  her  bones. 

Louise  smiled,  a  kind  of  wan  smile  it  must  be 
admitted,  how  she  began  and  how  she  ended  she 
never  knew,  but  in  some  way  or  other  an  idea  of 
the  proposed  change  began  at  length  to  dawn  upon 
Emma,  and  really  if  the  "marrow"  was  not  frozen 


180  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

as  she  had  expected,  she  was  quite  as  much  excited 
as  if  such  an  event  had  really  occurred. 

"Can  it  be  possible,"  thought  she,  "that  the  old- 
sweet  companionship  is  to  be  broken  up?"  No, 
never;  and  greatly  to  the  surprise  of  Louise,  after 
her  excited  roommate  had  taken  two  or  three  turns 
about  the  room  she  stopped  squarely  in  front  of  her 
and  announced  her  intention  of  accompanying  her. 
A  swift  vision  of  the  plain,  meagerly  furnished  room 
she  had  just- secured  passed  rapidlv  before  her,  and 
mentally  she  contrasted  it  with  the  luxurious  one  in 
Emma's  own  home.  Then  there  was  the  vinegar- 
ish  Mrs.  Hoyson,  the  new  landlady.  Louise 
wearily  acknowledged  to  herself  that  in  all  proba- 
bility herein  would  lie  the  greatest  trial  of  the  new 
life.  No,  Emma  must  not  make  this  sacrifice;  thus 
much  she  said,  but  Emma  remained  firm. 

"Now  you  need  not  say  a  word,  my  mind  is  fully 
made  up.  Let  me  tell  you  something.  Do  you 
remember  last  summer  at  one  of  the  meetings  of 
the  Missionary  Band,  Mrs.  Millionaire  was  urging 
us  to  exercise  self-denial  in  our  gifts,  showing  so 
plainly  that  the  Lord  took  a  special  delight  in  such 
giving.  I  remember  to  have  felt  a  sense  of  shame 
that  in  all  my  life  I  had  not  known  what  it  was  U> 
really  do  without  something  I  wanted  in  order  to 
get  money  to  give.  Now  here  is  my  opportunity. 
I  will  go  with  you  to  the  club,  and  every  dollar  so 
saved  (and  I  will  keep  an  exact  account)  shall  go- 


LIFE  IN  A  COLLEGE  CLUB.  181 

to  that  new  mission  in  the  interior  of  China.  Now 
it  is  settled." 

And  so  it  was.  A  few  days  later  found  the 
friends  unpacking  their  "penates,"  as  in  schoolgirl 
fashion  they  styled  their  trunks,  and  few  other 
belongings,  in  one  of  the  grim,  bare  rooms  belonging 
to  Mrs.  Hoyson. 

A  square  of  rag  carpet  ornamented  the  floor  of 
this  room,  while  a  bed,  a  washstand,  a  plain  table 
and  two  chairs  comprised  the  furniture.  The  win- 
dows were  small  and  nearer  the  ceiling. than  the 
floor.  The  views  from  neither  were  enspiriting. 
In  front  some  busy  men — in  a  cooper  shop — kept 
up  a  a  rat-tat-tat  on  some  barrels  the  whole  day 
long,  while  from  the  rear  the  view  was  excellent  of 
a  cemetery  about  a  block  away.  Far  from  this 
being  an  occasion  of  worrying,  however,  it  became 
the  subject  of  many  an  odd  remark  from  Emma, 
and  notwithstanding  the  dreariness  of  the  place  not 
a  day  passed  without  the  sound  of  happy  girlish 
laughter.  Looking  back  upon  their  college  lives  in 
after  years,  two  sober  women,  each  seriously  intent 
upon  performing  the  duties  with  which  their  lives 
became  singularly  full,  were  wont  to  smile  as  epi- 
sode after  episode  of  this  happy — supremely  funny 
dub  life  was  recalled. 

If  Mrs.  Hoyson,  had  one  feature  predomi- 
nant above  another  that  feature  was  neatness,  her 
white  aprons  were  always  smooth  and  glossy  in 
their  stiffness,  and  woe  to  the  unlucky  roomer  who 


182  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

left  things  "  lying  around."  Emma  and  Louise  took 
turns  in  "  straightening."  One  morning,  it  being 
Emma's  turn  (Louise  was  at  her  practice),  that 
young  lady  concluded  she  would  hurry  up  her  tire 
and  took  some  oil  from  the  lamp  to  do  so.  Great 
was  her  dismay  to  find  a  great  oil  spot  on  the  floor. 
What  would  Mrs.  Hoyson  say?  Now  Emma  really 
knew  nothing  of  housework  and  as  she  stood  con- 
templating the  spot,  "Why  not  burn  it  off,"  some- 
thing seemed  to  suggest.  Well,  in  the  next  minute 
she  learned  a  thing  or  two  about  how  not  to 
remove  a  grease  spot.  The  "  fire  "  was  promptly 
put  out,  but  not  until  the  girls  had  gathered  from 
the  different  rooms  with  Mrs.  Hoyson,  grim  and 
severe,  at  their  lead.  Poor  Emma,  she  hardly 
knew  which  was  most  to  be  dreaded,  the  "  oh  mys" 
of  the  girls  or  the  stony  displeasure  of  Mrs.  Hoyson. 
The  plan  of  the  present  campaign  of  economics 
was  that  there  should  be  one  of  their  number  who 
in  their  turn  should  do  the  purchasing  of  supplies, 
and  it  became  a  matter  of  rivalry  to  see  which 
could  bring  their  expenses  down  to  the  lowest  pos- 
sible figure  and  yet  maintain  a  good  bill  of  fare. 
However,  it  became  tacitly  understood,  if  either 
of  these  points  were  to  be  sacrificed,  the  uncom- 
plaining latter  should  be  the  victim.  That  year, 
as  if  to  get  ready  for  such  emergencies  nature  had 
sent  a  bountiful  crop  of  potatoes,  and  never  before 
had  either  Louise  or  Emma  dreamed  of  the  possi- 
bilities of  this  one  mealy  jacketed  tuber. 


•     LIFE  IN  A  COLLEGE  CLUB.  183 

It  became  quite  an  experience  with  Emma  to  go 
with  pencil  and  note  book  in  hand,  and  with  an  air 
of  importance  make  the  acquaintance  of  grocers 
and  butchers,  and  exchange  animated  remarks 
upon  the  lowest  possible  price  of  vegetables  or 
meat,  and  none  learned  quicker  than  she  the  possi- 
bilities of  a  soup  bone  or  the  satisfying  qualities  of 
a  breakfast  of  batter  cakes. 

This  last  knowledge  came  from  a  remark  of 
Mrs.  Hoyson  herself,  with  whom  Emma  was  arrang- 
ing the  breakfasts  for  her  week,  and  discussing  the 
merits  of  the  various  breakfast  dishes  proposed, 
always  of  course  with  an  e}*e  to  economy.  Mrs. 
Hoyson,  to  help  matters  along,  ventured  the  remark 
with  her  peculiar  nasal  drawl  and  without  much 
regard  to  grammar  or  pronunciation,  "You'd  better 
try  pancakes;  pancakes  is  mighty  fillin'."  This 
Emma,  with  her  inimitable  sense  of  humor,  related 
for  the  benefit  of  the  club,  and  pancakes  became 
the  order  of  the  day. 

Having  tasted  the  sweets  of  economy,  Emma 
began  to  carry  it  into  her  private  expenses,  as  the 
following  will  show:  They  were  all  seated  at  the 
table  w  hen  Louise  happened  to  remark,  "I  wish  we 
had  a  barrel  of  apples,  say  of  Belleflower,  or  of 
Winesaps  from  the  home  orchard." 

"  Oh,  dear,"  returned  Emma,  "Apples  are  dread- 
ful dear.  I  priced  some  on  the  way  to  school  this 
morning,  and  they  were  three  for  a  dime."  I 
wanted  some  so  badly  though  I  told  the  boy  I 


184  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

would  take  five  cents  -worth"  A  peal  of  laughter 
followed  this  announcement,  and  it  took  Emma  a 
whole  minute  to  discover  that  there  was  anything 
funny  in  the  proposed  purchase  of  half  an  apple. 
"No  wonder  the  boy  looked  perplexed  and  busied 
himself  with  another  customer,"  she  admitted  to 
herself. 

A  full  account  of  all  these  exploits  Emma  "wrote 
up"  in  her  weekly  letter  home.  At  first  these  let- 
ters were  a  source  of  great  amusement,  and  much 
interest  was  felt  in  "Emma's  latest  freak."  After 
awhile,  however,  the  fear  came  that  perhaps  for 
the  sake  of  health  the  girls  were  carrying  the 
matter  too  far,  and  so  upon  the  receipt  of  the  apple 
episode  done  up  in  Emma's  most  melo-dramatic 
manner,  Mrs.  Ward  said  emphatically,  "Well,  I 
have  wanted  to  visit  Emma  for  a  long  time.  I  am 
going  at  once." 

A  few  days  after,  as  the  girls  were  sitting  down 
to  one  of  their  plainest  dinners,  they  were  greatly 
surprised  by  seeing  a  cab  drive  up,  and  in  another 
moment  Emma  was  in  her  mother's  arms.  It  did 
not  take  that  lady  long  to  decide  that  both  Emma 
and  Louise  would  be  better  off  back  in  their  old 
cosy  home.  Mr.  Ward  sent  a  message  to  the  effect 
that  he  would  see  that  Mrs.  Millionaire  and  the 
mission  did  not  suffer  in  this  decision.  Louise  con- 
curred, with  a  bit  of  exultation  in  her  heart,  it  must 
be  confessed.  Besides,  had  she  not  had  an  "exper- 
ience" as  well  as  the  home  folks? 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

AN  ORATORICAL  CONTEST — SAD  ENDING. 

§N  pleasanter  quarters  the  year  passed,  and 
never  perhaps  had  more  genuine  hard  work 
been  done.  Commencement  week  was  hasten- 
ing, but  preceding  this  by  a  fortnight  an  event  was 
to  occur  in  which  the  interest  of  all  centered. 

Their  university  was  a  member  of  an  inter- 
collegiate oratorical  association,  and  had  been 
chosen  as  the  place  where  representatives  of  the 
different  colleges  should  meet  and  contest  for  the 
honor  of  supremacy. 

With  a  thrill  of  pride  Louise  received  from 
Richard  the  message  that  he  had  been  chosen  to  rep- 
resent his  college.  Ah  if  he  should  win!  and  her 
blood  hasted  and  her  cheeks  glowed  as  she 
imagined  him  the  hero  of  the  occasion.  Little  else 
than  the  contest  was  talked  of.  At  length  the  day 
came. 

As  the  representatives  from  the  different  colleges 
began  to  gather,  it  was  easy  to  see  that  they  were  all 
picked  men,  the  pride  of  their  institutions.  Many 

13 


186  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

were  accompanied  by  some  of  their  particular 
friends  who  desired  to  witness  the  success,  as  each 
one  hoped,  of  their  "man." 

Among  them  came  Richard  Newton,  who  lost 
no  time  in  calling  upon  her  for  whose  sake  he  was 
most  anxious  to  succeed.  From  him  Louise 
learned  that  a  company  of  his  friends,  among 
whom  was  a  Mr.  Braceton,  had  accompanied  him. 

The  next  few  hours  seemed  like  a  dream,  they 
were  so  full  of  feverish  anxiety.  At  length  came 
the  packed  hall,  the  flutter  of  college  colors,  the 
din  of  college  yells,  and  then  the  genuine  eloquence 
of  each  contestant. 

Presently  a  clear,  rich,  well  modulated  voice 
began.  Ah!  how  well  Louise  knew  each  tone. 
See,  the  audience  is  growing  still,  is  bending  to 
listen. 

The  chosen  theme  is  one  that  touches  the  heart, 
and  the  great  heart  of  the  audience  responds  as 
the  earnest,  impassioned  sentences  fall  from  the 
speaker's  lips. 

The  orator  at  length  sits  down  amid,  a  storm  of 
applause.  There  were  others  yet  to  speak,  but 
Louise  felt  that  her  lover  had  won,  and  it  was 
true. 

Later  the  prize  was  given  to  him,  a  lovelv  sil- 
vered head  of  the  great  Demosthenes,  crowned 
with  a  golden  crown  of  laurel,  the  latter  of  such 
fine  and  beautiful  workmanship  that  the  delicate 
leaves  seemed  to  quiver  before  the  slightest  breeze. 


,-LV  ORATORICAL  CONTEST.  187 

Louise  could  not  trust  herself  to  offer  the  custom- 
arv  congratulations,  before  many  curious  eves. 

Leaving  a  message  with  Asbury  to  the  effect 
that  she  and  her  roommate,  Miss  Ward,  would 
call  in  the  morning,  she  quickly  sought  the  privacy 
of  her  room. 

In  the  after  years  of  her  life  she  was  wont  to 
look  back  upon  the  delirious  jov  of  that  evening  as 
of  an  experience  in  the  life  of  another,  one  of  whom 
perhaps  she  had  read,  so  far  awav  and  unreal  did 
it  come  to  seem. 

Her  first  thought  on  awakening  the  next  morn- 
ing was,  "Richard  has  won !"  How  proud  she 
felt  of  him.  What  might  she  not  expect  from  the 
future  in  which  the  world  must  recognize  his 
ability? 

In  front  of  her  window  stood  a  great  tree,  always 
a  favorite  trysting  place  for  robins  and  the  other 
birds  of  the  locality.  As  she  threw  open  the  sash 
she  noticed  a  robin  swaying  to  and  fro  on  one  of 
the  topmost  boughs.  As  she  looked  she  saw  him 
throw  back  his  head,  and  in  an  ecstacy  of  delight 
burst  into  such  a  flood  of  melody  that  the  quiet 
stillness  of  the  morning  seemed  suddenly  to  become 
one  great  anthem  of  praise.  This  accorded  well 
with  her  own  present  emotions,  and  she  said 
softly  to  herself,  "  The  bird  is  not  happier  than  I." 

The  song  finished,  the  happy  songster  flew  up 
yet  a  little  higher  and  perched  upon  another  limb, 
not  yet  leaving  the  shady  tree.  Suddenly  there  was 


183  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

a  whirr  from  a  bow  and  arrow  in  the  hands  of  a 
neighbor's  boy,  and  his  sweet  song  was  hushed  for- 
ever. 

Shocked,  and  with  her  heart  filled  with  pity  at  the 
tragedy,  she  hastened  to  where  he  lay  gasping,  bin 
as  she  stroked  the  ruffled  plumage,  there  was  no 
voice  to  whisper  that  her  own  happiness  might  be 
wrecked  as  quickly. 

As  she  knew  that  in  all  probability  many  would 
call  at  the  victor's  rooms  during  the  morning,  she 
arranged  that  hers  should  be  as  early  as  possible, 
and  so  as  the  silvery  chimes  of  ten  o'clock  rang 
out,  she  with  Asbury  and  Emma  started  for  the 
hotel  where  he  was  stopping. 

Let  us  for  a  moment  go  back  to  the  victor. 
Flushed  with  ex'citement,  congratulated  on  all  sides, 
the  idol  for  the  time  of  the  college  friends  who  had 
accompanied  him,  Richard  Newton  went  to  his 
rooms  happier,  having  lately  known  such  sorrow, 
than  he  could  have  dreamed  possible. 

Students  from  the  different  colleges  began  to 
gather  in  his  room  and  offer  congratulations. 
Later  when  the  number  had  narrowed  down  to  per- 
haps a  half  dozen,  Braceton  suggested  that  they 
should  celebrate  the  victory  in  some  sort  of  style. 

Richard  demurred.  More  than  once  in  Brace- 
ton's  own  room  he  had  gone  beyond  the 
bounds,  and  none  knew  as  well  as  he  the  danger 
that  menaced  him.  But  Braceton  insisted  and 
finally  a  bottle  of  champagne  was  brought. 


SAD  ENDING.  180 

"  No,  no,  not  here,"  Richard  said  as  the  spark- 
ling glass  was  handed  him. 

At  this  arose  a  laugh  which  was  decisive — it 
is  easier  for  some  souls  to  stand  before  a  bullet 
than  before  a  laugh — so  the  glass  was  drained, 
then  'another.  Other  bottles  were  brought,  and 
soon  the  walls  echoed  with  foolish  laughter  and 
jest. 

With  the  second  draught  all  control  of  himself 
passed  from  young  Newton.  Gone  were  the 
memories  of  a  mother's  death,  a  father's  trouble, 
gone  even  the  memory  of  Louise;  and  not  until 
the  early  dawn  did  he  fall  into  a  drunken  stupor, 
dressed  as  he  had  come  from  the  hall,  and  so  he 
was  lying  when  Louise  crossed  the  threshold. 

The  parlors  of  this  hotel  were  on  the  second 
floor,  and  the  room  Richard  and  Braceton  occupied 
was  only  a  door  distant. 

On  the  arrival  of  the  visitors  the  porter  knocked 
at  the  door,  handed  the  card  to  Braceton  who 
had  answered.  ( It  was  a  peculiarity  that  the  drink 
that  would  affect  the  quick,  nervous  brain  of 
Newton,  Braceton  would  hardly  feel.) 

As  he  took  the  card  he  read  aloud  the  name. 
Was  it  the  magic  of  the  name  that  broke  the 
drunken  stupor?  At  any  rate,  Richard  slowly 
arose,  looked  wildly  around  saying,  "  Where  am 
I?" 

"  Pull  yourself  together,  old  fellow,"  said  Brace- 
ton.  "You  have  callers  that  I  think  vou  would 


190  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

like  to  see,  though  you  had  better  say  you're  out 
till  you're  in  better  shape." 

"What  do  you  say?"  and  as  he  seized  the  delicate 
card  in  his  hand,  somehow,  through  the  befogged 
brain  was  borne  the  fact  that  Louise  was  waiting, 
and  without  a  moment's  hesitation  he  started  to  go 
to  her. 

Perceiving  this,  Braceton  took  hold  of  him  to 
hold  him  back.  Then  came  the  sound  of  a  thick, 
incoherrent,  angry  voice,  echoes  of  which  floated 
over  the  open  transom  into  the  parlors.  Emma 
started,  and  Louise  grew  pale  with  apprehension. 

Suddenly  the  door  opened,  and  in  walked  Rich- 
ard, with  hair  wildly  dishevelled,  eyes  bloodshot, 
his  whole  attire  bespeaking  a  night's  carousal. 

Muttering  something  in  an  incoherent,  unsteady 
manner,  he  essayed  to  walk  across  the  room  to 
where  Louise  sat,  the  strong  odor  of  wine  preced- 
ing him. 

Like  a  flash  upon  the  startled  girl  came  the 
memory  of  that  dreadful  night  when  Baby  Flossie 
lay  dying,  and  a  drunken  husband  had  ended  his 
own  miserable  life;  and  with  this  flash  came  a  real- 
izing sense  of  Richard's  condition. 

With  a  low  moan  and  a  startled,  appealing 
glance  toward  Asbury  and  Emma,  she  fled  through 
the  open  door. 

Oh!  to  be  home,  to  be  in  her  own  room,  to  be 
anywhere  that  she  might  hide  her  shame  and  dis- 
grace. 


SAD  ENDING.  191 

A  few  minutes  later,  returning  homeward,  she 
entered  the  gateway,  and  just  by  the  door  the  body 
of  the  dead  robin  still  lay.  Mechanically  she  stop- 
ped as  she  said,  "Oh !  little  bird,  I  am  brought  as 
low  as  you;  your  happiness  is  not  more  surely 
ended  than  is  mine." 

Passing  to  her  room,  the  disgrace  of  the  scene 
she  had  so  recently  witnessed  well  nigh  over- 
whelmed her.  With  it  came  the  conviction,  slow 
but  sure,  that  the  various  whispered  rumors  which 
had  reached  her  during  the  years,  and  to  which  she 
had  so  vehemently  refused  credence  were  true. 
Then  came  the  pain  and  the  heart  agony  as  the 
idol  came  to  be  torn  out,  for '"torn  from  her  heart 
he  should  be,"  she  said  to  herself.  An  hour  ago 
she  had  been  so  proud  of  him;  but  now?  yes,  the 
dream  was  over.  Little  Flossie  had  not  died  in 
vain. 

The  next  day  the  great  panting  engine  rapidly 
bore  Louise  on  her  homeward  journey,  yet  it  could 
not  go  fast  enough  to  suit  the  wild  tumult  in  her 
heart.  After  what  seemed  an  age  the  familiar 
home  depot  was  reached.  She  had  half  expected 
that  her  father  or  one  of  the  boys  would  meet  her, 
else  how  would  she  get  out  to  the  farm? 
,  A  sudden  remembrance  of  the  change  swept 
over  her.  Ordering  a  carriage  she  was  soon  being 
driven  rapidly  to  the  new  home. 

Rachel  had  been  unusually  busy  that  morning, 
and  had  just  sat  down  in  an  easy  chair  for  a  few 


192  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

minutes  talk  with  her  husband  who  had  entered 
when  hearing  the  noise  of  wheels  at  the  gate,  and 
glancing  out  she  caught  sight  of  the  carriage  which 
she  recognized  as  one  that  carried  passengers  to 
and  from  the  trains. 

"Why!  who  can  it  be?  "and  she  looked  curiously 
at  the  strangely  familiar  figure  now  coming  up  the 
walk. 

As  Louise  stepped  upon  the  porch  she  raised 
her  veil  as  if  in  search  of  something  familiar.  As 
Rachel  looked  on  the  face,  and  recognized  it  as  her 
daughter's,  a  sudden  fear  swept  over  her. 

"  Louise,  Louise!  my  child,  speak,  tell  me,  are 
you  ill?"  for  Louise  was  now  sobbing — the  first 
tears  since  that  dreadful  morning. 

"  Yes,  mother,  sick  of  life,  sick  at  heart." 

Gently  Rachel  unloosed  her  wraps  and  removed 
her  hat,  and  with  motherly  tact  soothed  her  while 
she  told  the  dreadful  story. 

"  Mother,"  said  Louise,  after  the  storm  had  spent 
itself  and  she  had  been  soothed  by  the  sympathy 
of  both  father  and  mother,  *«  it  is  all  over.  Hence- 
forth he  is  to  me  as  if  he  had  never  been.  I  can 
never  forget  poor  little  Flossie." 

At  this,  though  her  face  betokened  naught  but 
true  sympathy  with  the  grief  of  her  daughter,  a 
song  of  thanksgiving  arose  in  the  mother's  heart. 
Curiously  enough,  even  as  she  held  her  in  her  arms 
and  comforted  her,  the  night  of  her  own  agony  in 
the  farm  house  came  vividly  back.  How,  torn 


SAD  ENDING.  19& 

with  doubts  and  fears,  she  had  tossed  upon  her 
bed,  saying  over  and  over  to  herself,  "  It  must  be 
broken  off  ;  but  how?"  Alas  that  in  the  answer- 
ing there  should  be  so  many  ruined  hopes  and  so 
much  of  sorrow. 

To  do  her  justice,  it  must  be  said  that  she  was 
grieved  to  hear  Richard's  fall.  She  had  not 
expected  it  to  come  in  so  gross  a  manner.  She 
had  yielded  at  last  a  tacit  consent  to  the  marriage 
which  peemed  inevitable,  but  with  all  her  intuitions 
on  the  alert  she  could  see  nothing  but  unhappiness. 
Better  a  thousand  heartaches  at  present,  she  said  to- 
herself  as  she  noted  Louise's  grief,  than  that  the 
entire  life  should  be  wrecked,  and  trusting  tc  the 
elasticity  of  youth,  she  hoped  that  all  would  yet  be 
well. 

After  the  first  greetings,  and  the  first  pangs  of 
shame  and  grief  over,  Louise  quickly  detected  the 
changes  time  had  brought  about.  Her  father 
looked  old  and  careworn,  and  there  came  a  real- 
izing sense  in  her  heart  of  all  the  dear  ones  had 
suffered,  and  the  hope  was  born  and  grew  that 
though  her  own  happiness  was  as  she  believed 
wrecked  forever,  still  there  might  remain  the  joy  of 
lightening  their  burdens. 

The  greatest  change  was  in  her  brothers  and 
sisters.  She  could  hardly  connect  the  old  quiet 
playmate  Ruth  with  the  tall,  slender,  girlish  woman* 
who  ruled  with  a  sway  of  gentleness  in  the  little 
schoolhouse  just  back  of  the  farm. 


194  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

Edward  and  John  seemed  suddenly  grown  up, 
the  latter  a  counterpart  of  his  father.  Indeed,  some- 
times as  he  walked  down  the  yard  there  was  that 
in  his  carnage  that  brought  back  strangely  to 
Rachel  the  old  days  at  Lynton  when  a  shy,  rugged 
farmer  had  become  all  in  all  to  her.  He  had  his 
father's  strict  notions  of  honesty  and  his  mother's 
unquestioning  faith,  and  with  the  advantage  of  a 
modern  education  he  bade  fair  to  make  him  a 
•widely  useful  man.  But  it  was  a  matter  of  regret 
that  he  seemed  less  inclined  to  study  than  the 
others.  There  had  been  so  much  hard  work  on 
the  farm,  always  something  for  which  he  seemed 
-especially  fitted;  so  it  was  not  strange  that  he  was 
not  the  student  that  either  of  the  older  ones  were. 

A  letter  soon  followed  Louise  from  Asbury,  in 
which  he  stated  that  he  had  received  an  offer  to 
take  charge  of  a  congregation  in  the  State  where 
the  University  was  situated.  So  with  his  parents' 
leave  he  would  not  be  home  during  the  vacation, 
^ind  Louise  was  the  more  readily  reconciled  to  this 
because,  while  he  sympathized  with  her  in  the  mor- 
tification which  she  had  endured,  yet  with  his  strict 
notions  of  right  and  wrong,  he  had  always  agreed 
with  his  mother  that  there  could  be  nothing  but 
unhappiness  from  the  marriage,  and  really  he  felt 
that  no  price  was  too  dear  to  pay  for  release  from 
such  a  bondage. 

The  father  and  mother  began  though  to  wonder 
if  their  children  would  ever  be  at  home  toether 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

"  FAREWELL,  LIFE    CHOICE." 

fOUISE  soon  found  her  niche  in  the  house- 
hold. She  had  lost  none  of  her  old  helpful- 
ness, and  as  Ruth's  school  was  just  closing, 
the  mother  would  say  jesting  that  with  two  grown 
daughters  her  occupation  was  gone. 

She  found  the  family  still  sore  over  the  loss  of 
their  home,  yet  bravely  trying  to  make  the  best  of 
life.  As  for  herself — she  did  not  dare  let  them 
know  how  much  she  missed  the  dear  old  home  and 
the  farm,  with  the  many  associations  of  her  child- 
hood, nor  how  much  of  a  stranger  she  felt  herself 
to  be  in  the  smart  new  cottage  they  were  beginning 
to  call  home. 

In  those  days  she  did  not  look  far  into  the  future. 
The  past  had  been  so  bitter,  perhaps  it  might  be 
given  her  in  the  every  day  life  of  the  present  to  be 
of  some  practical  use  to  her  brothers  and  sisters. 
So  with  as  much  zeal  as  though  her  livelihood 
depended  upon  it  she  began  giving  Ruth  instruc- 
tion in  music.  Edward's  rapid  development  had 
startled  her,  and  it  was  with  genuine  pride  that  she 


196  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

noted  his  well  defined  literary  taste.  She  often 
said  to  her  parents  as  she  noted  his  unerring  judg- 
ment of  the  literature  -which  came  into  the  home, 
that  certainly  somewhere  and  somehow  he  would 
find  his  life-work  among  books,  but  how  should 
she  interest  John,  rugged,  plain-spoken,  practical 
John,  upon  whom  the  family  were  coming  to  lean 
more  ind  more,  for  that  he  must  be  interested  in 
books  and  in  study  she  felt  very  sure. 

Now  fortune  favored  her;  quite  a  bit  of  local 
interest  was  manifest  just  now  in  the  application  of 
certain  phosphates  to  a  stretch  of  alkaline  lands 
which  ran  up  to  one  side  of  the  city,  and  none  were 
more  interested  than  John  in  the  outcome.  This 
gave  her  an  idea.  Might  he  not  become  interested 
in  chemistry  itself  ?  She  approached  the  question 
with  tact,  and  ere  long  it  came  to  be  the  usual 
thing  to  have  an  "  experiment "  on  hands.  One 
victory  won  she  planned  another.  She  had  manv 
interesting  episodes  of  her  class  studies  in  geologv 
with  which  she  regaled  him  as  they  took  tramp 
after  tramp,  of  her  planning  together.  Yes,  thev 
really  littered  up  the  house,  and  brought  home 
much  that  was  worthless,  but  a  nature  hitherto  deaf 
to  the  persuasive  voice  of  study  was  surely  awaken- 
ing, and  Louise,  fresh  from  a  realm  where  learning 
and  culture  were  sovereign,  felt  no  trouble  too 
great  if  that  goal  could  be  reached. 

It  was  not  strange  that  occasionally  on  these 
tramps  their  feet  should  turn  toward  the  old  farm. 


"FAREWELL,  LIFE  CHOICE."  197 

One  dav  as  the}-  sat  together  on  the  edge  of  iht 
woodland  Louise  remembered  so  well,  John 
recounted  for  his  sister's  benefit  the  whole  history 
of  those  dreadful  weeks.  So  vivid  was  his  por- 
trayal that  she  seemed  to  live  over  the  scene,  and 
could  almost  hear  the  creak  of  the  wagons  that 
bore  the  family  and  belongings  away. 

"  But  I  tell  you  sister  mine,  I  '11  have  every  acre 
back,"  and  as  he  spoke  his  glowing  face  and  flash- 
ing eye  showed  that  this  promise  which  he  had  made 
to  himself  and  his  mother  in  the  midst  of  their 
trouble  had  taken  deep  root  in  his  heart.  Louise 
watched  the  strong  face,  and  began  to  question  him 
as  to  his  plans.  These  she  found  were  as  yet  very 
vague,  but  here  was  her  opportunity,  and  in  a 
kindly  way  she  showed  that  in  order  to  cope  with 
the  world  an  education  was  necessary.  "  But  I  '11 
never  go  to  college,"  insisted  he. 

"  Well,  you  need  not  if  you  so  choose,  but  a  cer- 
tain amount  of  education  you  must  have.  Take 

mathematics  for  instance "  "  Don't  mention  that 

study  ;  it  is  the  prince  of  all  evils,"  interposed 
John. 

"  By  no  means,  rather  this  science  is  mankind's 
best  friend,"  and  she  went  on  to  tell  him  among 
other  things,  of  the  wonderful  array  of  facts  that 
would  be  absolutely  unknowable  without  this 
science.  His  interest  was  aroused,  and  before 
another  week  had  passed  he  had  gotten  the  key  to 
successful  study — he  -was  interested — and  in  after 


198  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

years  when  an  ocean  came  to  roll  between  these 
two,  this  sweet  companionship  became  a  blessed 
memory.  Nor  did  this  gifted  sister  with  all  the 
later  work  that  she  was  permitted  to  do  in  after 
years,  ever  value  aught  of  that  so  highly  as  she  did 
these  few  weeks  spent  with  her  brother. 

A  few  weeks  after  Louise's  return  an  event 
occurred  which,  in  order  to  properly  chronicle,  we 
shall  have  to  return  to  the  university  so  suddenly 
and  unceremoniously  left. 

Never  did  Esau  of  old  sorrow  more  over  the  loss 
of  his  birthright  than  did  Richard  Newton  when  lie 
came  to  himself  and  realized  what  had  occurred. 

Shame,  mortification,  self  condemnation  and 
anger  at  the  false  friends  raged  in  his  breast.  With 
intellectual,  laurel-crowned  brow  his  "  Demos- 
thenes "  gazed  solemnly  at  him  from  the  mantle. 
How  he  hated  the  unoffending  silver.  What  were 
a  thousand  prizes  if  disgrace  ruled  supreme  and 
Louise  were  lost. 

Braceton  flippantly  bade  him  "  cheer  up."  To 
Richard's  credit  be  it  said,  he  angrily  turned  on 
him  and  bade  him  begone;  he  wished  never  to  see 
him  again. 

Was  all  lost  ?  Gradually  the  hope  grew  upon 
him  that  it  was  not.  He  knew  that  Louise's  great 
love  had  stood  firm  in  the  other  great  trials. 
Might  he  not  hope  it  would  yet  stand  ?  He 
turned  this  over,  and  at  last  resolved  to  go- 
and  throw  himself  upon  her  mercy.  He  knew  of 


"FAREWELL,  LIFE  CHOICE"  199- 

her  sudden  flight  home,  he  could  guess  her  morti- 
fication, hut  there  was  hut  one  hope  in  life  left  him. 
He  would  see  her,  would  plead  his  case,  and  give 
her  his  solemn  pledge  that  he  would  never  again 
touch  wine  in  any  form. 

How  clearly  he  now  saw,  with  her,  that  this  was 
for  him  the  only  safe  course. 

One  day  in  the  early  summer,  Louise  was 
startled  by  the  appearance  of  her  lover.  She  dared 
not  look  at  him  lest  the  sight  of  his  abject  sorrow 
might  turn  her. 

"Never  again  would  he  fall  so  low,"  came  the 
promise  straight  from  the  heart,  for  the  pleader 
knew  that  for  him  it  was  a  matter  of  life  or  death. 

With  her  by  his  side,  he  was  sure  he  could 
stand;  without  her  he  was  lost.  But  no;  she  could 
not  listen.  She  had  to  bid  him  go,  for  a  dead  baby 
face  looked  out  from  a  bank  of  flowers  bidding  her 
remember  that  "  a  drunkard  is  a  slave." 

So  these  two  parted,  the  one  to  go  to  her  room 
to  throw  herself  upon  the  hard  floor  in  agony,  to- 
moan,  to  pray,  and  finally  from  her  knees  to  go  out 
bravely  into  life  to  take  up  such  duties  as  He  might 
give.  The  other?  as  Adam  left  Paradise,  to  that 
may  this  other  going  be  likened.  Behind  were 
love  and  happiness,  and  he  told  himself,  success. 
Beyond?  but  he  could  get  no  further,  for  despair 
lay  at  his  heart.  He  knew  he  was  lost. 

Did  she  do  right?  Was  not  her  place  at  his  side, 
if  in  happiness?  Well,  if  in  suffering  still  the 


200  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

s;ime?  Ought  she  not  to  have  thrown  her  pure, 
strong  self  in  the  breach,  in  an  effort  to  save  this 
erring,  brilliant  young  man? 

Ask  the  -drunkard's  child  who  begs  at  your 
doorway,  half  clad,  hungry,  often  diseased  in  body, 
an  imbecile  in  mind;  ask  the  drunkard's  wife  as 
hungry,  beaten,  bruised,  she  pitifully  stoops  on  the 
common  to  gather  a  few  sticks  to  warm  her  babes, 
while  she  goes  to  beg  charity  that  they  may  be  fed. 
Ask,  if  you  still  doubt,  the  murdered  Flossies  (and 
they  are  many),  and  in  one  strong  chorus  the 
answer  comes,  "She  did  right!" 

After  Richard's  departure,  until  near  the  close  of 
the  Summer,  the  days  went  by  without  incident. 
L,ouise,  with  the  old  imperiousness  all  gone,  anxious 
for  a  work  that  might  help  her  to  forget  her  sor- 
row, entered  heartily  into  the  duties  of  the  home. 
She  often  contrasted  this  Summer  with  the  last; 
that  so  full  of  the  world,  and  this  of  home  quiet. 
-One  day,  toward  the  end  of  August,  a  letter  came 
to  her  from  Emma's  home,  but  the  superscription 
was  not  Emma's. 

She  broke  the  seal  and  read  with  growing 
interest  and  surprise,  then  handed  it  in  silence  to 
her  father. 

It  proved  to  be  from  Mrs.  Millionaire,  who  wrote 
not  only  in  loving  remembrance,  but  in  referring  to 
the  pleasant  acquaintance  of  a  year  ago  said: 
"You  will  remember  my  brother  William,  who  was 
in  theological  school  when  you  were  here.  He  and 


"FAREWELL,  LIFE  CHOICE:'  201 

his  wife  have  been  accepted  as  missionaries  to  a 
province  in  China.  The  Woman's  Union  Mis- 
sionary society  is  earnestly  calling  for  a  consecrated 
young  woman  logo  with  them  to  teach  in  a  school. 
Indeed,  I  shall  have  to  say  plainly,  to  build  up  from 
nothing  a  girl's  college.  I  have  had  you  in  my 
mind  as  a  suitable  person.  Will  you  go?  Shall  I 
present  your  name  as  a  candidate?" 

The  letter  dropped  from  John  Stevenson's  hands 
<is  he  finished  reading  it  aloud  to  his  wife.  How 
often  about  their  hearthstone  had  foreign  mission- 
aries been  earnestly  prayed  for.  Many  were  the 
sacrifices  that  had  been  made  that  they  might  have 
more  for  this  beloved  cause.  But  to  give  a  daugh- 
ter, and  she  one  who  had  throughout  her  life  been 
in  a  peculiar  sense  the  brightness,  the  sunshine,  the 
music  of  the  home!  How  could  it  be?  And 
Louise?  See  her  as  she  stands  there  by  the  win- 
dow ledge,  her  face  a  study  of  emotions.  So  reso- 
lutely had  she  thrust  away  her  cup  of  proffered  hap- 
piness, and  so  uncomplainingly  had  she  busied  her- 
self about  the  home,  that  not  one  of  the  household 
had  realized  the  real  depth  of  the  blow  under  which 
she  staggered. 

It  is  a  strange  fact  that  parents  are  often  slow  to 
ascribe  the  same  depth  of  feeling  to  their  children 
which  they  themselves  possess.  To  illustrate: 
Rachel  Stevenson's  children  never  tired  of  hearing 
her  tell  of  the  dear  old  village  of  Lynton,  of  the 
old  sweet  days  when  she  and  their  father  became 
14 


202  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

all  in  all  to  each  oiher,  of  their  wedding  day  and  of 
the  strange  journey  westward.  As  the  boys  and 
girls  grew  older,  often  one  would  say  to  the  other, 
"How  much  mother  must  have  loved  father  to 
have  left  her  friends  and  home  forever,"  and  though 
Rachel  had  not  seemed  to  suspect  it,  just  such  a 
love  had  Louise  felt  for  Richard  Newton.  Thoughts 
of  him  had  entered  into  every  phase  of  her  life. 
When  she  had  practiced  a  song,  running  all 
through  and  giving  zest  to  the  practice  had  been- 
thoughts  of  her  bonny  young  lover.  Ah,  how 
brilliant  he  was,  how  hard  she  must  work  for  his 
sake!  This  self  abnegation  of  true  love  must 
alawys  remain  one  of  the  wonders  of  the  human 
heart.  Yet  loving  him  so,  she  had  relentlessly  at 
duty's  bidding,  uttered  the  words  that  had  parted 
them  forever.  She  was  too  brave  and  sensible, 
though,  to  allow  her  life  to  become  a  failure,  so  she 
had  thrown  herself  with  all  her  energies  into  the 
duties  that  had  happened  to  lie  nearest.  But  oh, 
the  heart  hunger,  the  ache,  and  the  pity.  The  one 
cry  of  her  heart  had  been  for  work,  absorbing 
work,  and  now  came  this  call.  Was  it  of  God  r 
Was  she  worthy  ?  Her  heart  bounded  at  the 
thought.  If  these  two  questions  were  but  settled 
how  gladly  she  would  go.  She  had  told  her 
parents  much  concerning  her  work  and  study  dur- 
ing the  past  summer  as  member  of  the  mission 
circle.  Could  it  be  they  thought,  as  they  noted 
her  eagerness  to  go,  that  that  had  been  a  providen- 


"FAREWELL,  LIFE  CHOICES'  203 

tial  school  sent  before  by  the  Father  to  prepare  this 
child  of  His  for  service.  If  so — no;  but  it  could 
not  be  settled  without  Help,  but  the  Help  so  freely 
promised  for  every  need  was  given,  and  after  a 
week,  in  what  seemed  in  its  heart  agony  to  be  an 
echo  of  Gethsemane  this  Christian  father  and 
mother  were  able,  through  their  tears,  to  say  "go." 

Perhaps  never  did  weeks  slip  by  as  did  these 
few  intervening  between  the  date  fixed  for  her 
departure.  Asbury  hastened  home,  that  they 
might  all  be  together  again.  So  with  aching  hearts 
father  and  mother  saw  the  dawn  of  the  day  that 
was  to  take  their  darling  away,  yet  not  one  would 
have  uttered  the  word  "s/«y." 

Louise  never  forgot  the  last  morning,  as  they 
gathered  for  family  prayers.  How  old,  how  bent, 
seemed  her  father,  as  with  trembling  voice  he 
began  to  read  those  matchless  words  of  David,  "  He 
that  dwelleth  in  the  secret  places  of  the  Most  High 
shall  abide  under  the  shelter  of  his  wings."  From 
the  beginning  John  and  Rachel  Stevenson  had 
been  so  careful  about  nothing  as  that  they  and 
theirs  should  so  dwell, .therefore  he  had  a  right  to 
pray  as  he  now  did,  "Make  good  thy  promises,  oh 
God.  We  have  sore  need  of  thy  sheltering  wings; 
enfold  this  dear  child."  Little  wonder  the  prayer 
died  down  in  sobs,  and  remained  unfinished.  Ah, 
well;  He  knew.  Have  little  fear,  brave  girl,  the 
sheltering  wings  will  cover  thee  and  the  Everlast- 
ing arms  will  be  underneath. 


•2(»4  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

A  few  hours  later  she  was  ^bne,  gone  with  her 
cheery  ways,  her  sweet  voice  and  her  sunny  pres- 
ence. Asbury  accompanied  her  as  far  as  New 
York.  Had  the  journey  been  a  quarter  of  a  cen- 
tury later  they  would  of  course  have  sailed  from  a 
western  port,  but  arrangements  had  been  made  that 
she  should  sail  with  an  English  party  from  Liver- 
pool. 

A  week  later,  in  one  of  the  largest  churches 
of  New  York,  a  "  farewell  meeting  "  was  announced 
for  some  outgoing  missionaries  who  were  about 
to  sail.  The  hour  was  rilled  with  prayer  and 
testimony  and  songs  of  praise.  The  mission- 
aries had  mostly  spoken  of  their  interest  in 
the  work  and  ho\v  willingly  they  had  given  them- 
selves to  the  cause,  but  the  audience  was  chiefly 
interested  in  a  young  girl  especially  gifted  who  was 
leaving,  so  it  was  said,  a  loving  home  circle,  having 
consecrated  her  life  to  this  work. 

Anticipating  the  natural  wish  of  the  audience  to 
hear  her,  the  kindly  presiding  officer,  bending  over, 
spoke  a  few  words  in  her  ear.  She  arose,  stood  a 
moment,  and  then  the  wondrously  rich  voice  began 
in  song  "  Nearer  my  God  to  Thee,"  with  the  words, 

"  E'en  though  it  be  a  cross  that  raiseth  me, 

Still,  still  my  song  shall  be, 
Nearer  my  God  to  Thee; 

Nearer  to  Thee." 

The  audience  was  moved  to  tears.  Yet  none  of 
them  guessed  the  story  of  the  cross  which  had 


"  FAREWELL,  LIFE  CHOICE:'  205 

brought  the  singer  so  wondrously  near  the   Divine 

One. 

***** 

"  Did  you  see  that  strange,  poorly  clad  woman  in 
the  rear  of  the  church?"  said  one  to  another  as 
they  slowly  wended  their  way  homeward  after  the 
services,  "  That  one  who  seemed  to  be  so  much 
affected  with  Miss  Stevenson's  song."  "  Yes." 
"  No,  she  was  just  some  one  dropped  in  off  the 
street." 

Later  the  bell  rang  at  the  home  where  Louise 
was  stopping  with  her  dear  friend  Emma,  who 
had  come  to  see  her  sail,  and  a  poorly  clad  woman, 
carrying  a  baby,  asked  to  see  Miss  Stevenson. 
Louise  went  at  once  to  the  room,  where  she  was 
waiting,  and  after  eagerly  scanning  the  visitor's 
face,  with  a  start  of  surprise,  cried  out,  "Therese 
Newton!" 

Yes,  it  was  she.  In  some  way  the  poor,  home- 
sick, unhappy  child  had  heard  of  the  meeting  and 
of  Louise,  and  she  had  yielded  to  an  irresistible 
desire  to  see  her.  She  had  not  expected  to  make 
herself  known,  but  the  song  had  broken  up  the 
fountains  of  her  heart  and  she  had  been  impelled  to 
seek  her  out.  Nor  did  she  even  now  expect  to 
whisper  aught  of  the  sadly  humiliated  life  she  was 
living,  nor  to  speak  of  the  cruel  treatment  of  him 
for  whom  she  had  left  home  and  friends,  who  fail- 
ing to  realize  the  money  he  had  expected,  vented 
his  ill  will  upon  the  innocent,  foolish  young  girl. 


206  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

But  before  she  knew  it  Louise  had  taken  the 
punv  creeping  babe  in  her  arms,  the  young  mother 
had  pillowed  her  head  on  her  shoulder  and  was  sob- 
bing out  the  whole  story. 

"  But  you  must  go  home."  "  Oh,  Louise,  I  can- 
not go  back.  I  must  live  out  my  wretched,  miser- 
able life.  I  have  sinned  away  every  opportunity  of 
my  life.  When  I  heard  of  mv  mother's  death  I 
thought  I  would  surely  die,  and  I  wanted,  oh  so 
much,  to  go  home,  but  he — "  and  she  shuddered  at 
the  name — "Oh,  I  dared  not  go." 

"Then  he  was  more  angry  than  ever  when  we 
heard  of  father's  loss  of  property.  No,  I  dare  not 
go,"  she  moaned,  "  I  believe  he  would  follow  me 
and  kill  me." 

And  was  this  abject,  cowering  creature  the  old- 
time  happy,  sprightly  Therese  ? 

Louise  shuddered  as  she  thought  of  the  treat- 
ment she  must  have  received  to  have  brought  her 
to  this. 

"  But  you  must  go,"  she  rejoined,  and  then 
she  told  Therese  of  her  father,  of  his  solitary  vigils  in 
the  old  home,  and  how  as  the  weeks  lengthened 
into  months  his  grief  seemed  to  grow  heavier. 
Therese  was  greatly  touched  at  the  recital,  and 
amid  her  tears  consented  to  make  an  attempt  to 
escape  her  present  miseries.  Perhaps,  notwith- 
standing her  grievous  fault,  there  might  yet  be  love 
and  a  welcome  in  the  shattered  home. 

That    night  Asbury    Stevenson  helped  a  scared 


"FAREWELL,  LIFE  CHOICE."  207 

looking  woman  into  a  western  bound  train,  and 
placing  a  ticket  in  her  hands  hade  her  be  of  good 
heart,  yet  she  trembled  each  time  a  heavy  footstep 
passed  through.  Had  she  but  known  it  she  had 
little  need  for  fear.  Even  that  morning  the  evil 
man  whose  cupidity  had  wrecked  her  life,  realizing 
that  the  wealth  he  had  expected  to  obtain  through 
her  had  slipped  from  his  grasp,  had  put  into 
execution  a  plan  long  nurtured.  He  had  sailed  for 
his  own  France;  both  mother  and  babe  were 
deserted. 

The  following  morning  as  the  missionary  party 
were  being  driven  to  the  pier,  Emma,  who  sat  with 
Louise's  hand  clasped  in  hers,  said  almost  in  a 
whisper,  "  Louise,  before  you  go  I  must —  We 
lose  the  whispered  story,  if  story  it  is,  but  catch 
Louise's  outspoken  half  deprecatory  comment, 
"Sly  Asbury !  "  Whatever  the  communication  was, 
it  must  have  been  a  pleasant  one,  for  suddenly 
Emma  was  gathered  close  in  Louise's  arms. 

In  a  few  hours  the  out-going  party  saw  the 
shores  of  their  native  land  recede,  and  weeping, 
waiting  friends  turned  slowly  about  to  gather  up 
again  the  broken  threads  of  their  busy  lives. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

THERESE ON  BOTH  SIDES  OF  AN  OCEAN. 

HE  rapidity  with  which  the  events  have 
shaped  themselves  has  made  it  quite  impos- 
sible to  return  to  the  stricken  man  whom  we 
left  by  the  grave  of  his  beloved  wife.  Though 
Marie  would  gladly  have  had  him  come  to  her,  vet 
he  preferred  to  return  to  his  own  home,  where  dur- 
ing all  this  time  he  has  lived  in  great  loneliness. 
The  greater  part  of  the  large  house  was  shut  up, 
the  few  rooms  needed  for  his  use  being  kept  in 
order  bv  a  housekeeper.  The  only  gleams  of 
happiness  that  fell  across  his  path  in  these  dark 
days  were  when  Marie's  little  Margaret  would  tod- 
dle to  him,  climb  upon  his  knees,  and  in  sweet 
baby  fashion  rub  her  little  soft  hand  over  his  care- 
worn face.  At  such  times  his  face  would  light  up, 
but  the  light  would  as  quickly  fade  away.  .  He 
seemed,  as  Louise  had  told  Therese,  to  be  settling 
into  a  hopeless  melancholy. 

His    business   had    finally   been  "settled,"  which 
term   by   a  strange  misnomer   has  been  chosen  to 


THERESE.  209- 

indicate  the  final  adjustment  of  properly  between 
a  bankrupt  and  his  creditors,  and  save  for  this 
house  which  had  been  the  property  of  his  wife,  he 
was  penniless.  The  peculiar  misfortunes  which 
had  befallen  him  in  his  family  affairs  had  brought 
him  much  sympathy,  and  when  a  new  company 
opened  the  "mills"  he  was  offered  the  position  of 
manager,  with  a  good  salary. 

Had  he,  like  his  old  friend  John  Stevenson,  had 
his  family  about  him,  he  might  with  his  rare  busi- 
ness qualities,  by  steering  clear  of  the  rock  of  specu- 
lation, have  yet  done  well, — but  Margaret,  the  joy 
of  his  home,  was  gone.  Therese,  that  blithe,, 
bright  girl  who  had  nestled  so  close  to  his  heart 
was,  he  felt  sure,  somewhere,  perhaps  in  want 
of  the  necessities  of  life,  paying  the  price  of  her 
folly. 

Through  the  first  months  of  his  sorrow  he  had 
clung  to  Richard  as  his  chief  prop.  How  his 
heart  had  bounded  as  the  telegraphic  message,  sent 
as  soon  as  the  result  was  known,  told  him  of  his 
oratorical  victory.  But  all  this  died  out  as  the  mis- 
erable story  of  the  evening's  subsequent  work 
reached  him,  and  with  the  knowledge  of  his 
estrangement  from  Louise.  He  had  seen  him  leave 
to  seek  his  fortune  in  the  West  with  but  little  hope 
that  he  would  be  able  to  withstand  the  temptations 
sure  to  be  placed  before  him. 

A  few  days  after  the  burial  of  his  wife  an  event 
occurred  which  did  much  to  comfort  him.  This- 


210  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

was  no  less  than  a  visit  from  John  Stevenson. 
Neither  of  the  men  said  much,  but  there  was  that 
in  the  hearty  hand  grasp  which  told  the  sorrowing 
man  that  the  past  \vas  forgiven,  and  that  for  him 
there  was  no  other  feeling  than  that  of  genuine 
sympathy.  Indeed  the  Stevensons  had  come  to 
feel  that  the  intention  had  never  been  wrong,  but 
rather  that  in  the  hopeless  task  of  unraveling  the 
entanglements,  hoping  vainly  that  each  week 
would  set  matters  right,  their  own  little  fortune  had 
gone  down  with  his  greater  one. 

But  more  appalling  to  them  than  loss  of  property 
seemed  the  scattering  of  the  family.  Even  the 
death  of  Margaret  they  felt  could  have  been  borne 
— alas,  many  a  wife  and  mother  has  had  to  be  lain 
away — had  the  children  all  been  present  to  comfort 
-and  sustain  the  afflicted  man.  In  comparison  their 
own  lives  seemed  strangely  full  of  blessings.  So  it 
was  with  no  feigned  sympathy  that  John  Stevenson 
had  gone  to  his  old  friend.  Yet,  even  the  sympa- 
thy of  an  old  friend  could  not  take  the  place  of  his 
own,  so  after  Richard's  departure  for  the  West  he 
had  drawn  entirely  within  himself,  and  with  a  grow- 
ing chill  at  the  heart  his  friends  feared  his  mind 
might  give  way  under  accumulation  of  sorrow. 

Sometimes  of  a  night,  when  the  house  was  still, 
he  would  wander  aimlessly  from  room  to  room. 
Unusually  upon  such  a  trip  he  would  go  to  a  drawer 
where  a  few  valuables  were  kept,  open  it,  take  from 


THERESE.  211 

its  depths  a  laurel-crowned  silver  head,  gaze  fondly 
at  it,  and  then  with  a  sigh  turn  wearily  away. 

On  one  such  night  he  was  sitting  gloomily  by 
the  tire  which  had  been  kindled  in  the  grate,  for  the 
evening  was  chilly,  the  door  bell  now  so  seldom 
used,  suddenly  rang.  Answering  the  summons 
himself,  what  was  his  surprise  to  see  upon  the 
doorstep  a  woman  illy  clad,  with  a  wailing  babe  in 
her  arms,  and  to  hear  a  voice  strangely  familiar  call 
out,  "  Father,  father!  I  have  come  back  to  home 
and  to  you.  You  will  not  turn  me  away?" 

It  was  Therese  who  had  made  the  long  journey 
back  to  the  home  from  which  she  in  her  foolishness 
had  fled. 

What  if  her  poor  little  life  had  been  overshad- 
owed by  a  mistake,  so  had  his.  With  outstretched 
arms  he  welcomed  her  back  to  his  desolate  home, 
and  Therese  knew  for  the  first  time  since  her  fool- 
ish marriage  the  value  of  the  homely  comforts  of 
food  and  shelter. 

It  had  not  yet  been  two  years  since  she  had  gone, 
but  how  she  had  aged.  It  seemed  hardly  possible 
that  this  haggard,  worn  woman  could  be  identical 
with  the  merry,  fun-loving  girl  who  had  danced 
through  these  great  halls. 

When  her  return  became  known  Ruth  Stevenson 
soon  sought  her,  and  to  her,  for  the  sake  of  the 
sweet  friendship  of  other  days,  reticient  as  she 
might  be  to  a  curious  world,  Therese  told  her  sad 


212  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

story,    and  in   this   tender  and  sympathetic    friend 
she  came  to  find  her  greatest  comfort. 

Before  Louise  sailed,  she  had  found  time  for  a 
hurried  letter  to  Ruth.  Referring  to  Therese 
she  said,  "  We  must  remember  that  she  has 
been  more  sinned  against  than  sinning.  It  is 
not  ours  to  judge  harshly,  and  looking  back  now 
over  the  years  it  seems  that  the  events  that  have 
so  crushed  her  and  others  as  well,  were  but  the 
inexorable  reaping  of  the  careless  sowing  of  other 
days.  Be  it  yours,  dear  Ruth,  to  lead  her  back  to 
happiness  and  a  Christian  faith.  Remember  she  is 
scarcely  yet  a  woman  in  years.  Life  may  hold 
much  for  her  yet."  Thus  the  gentle  ministry  of 
love  began  which  we  must  leave  to  the  years. 

Strangely  enough  it  was  left  to  Louise  to  be  the 
bearer  of  a  message  that,  though  startling  in  itself, 
brought  in  reality  the  first  breath  of  freedom  which 
Therese  had  known  since  the  miserable  night  of  her 
flight.  The  message  told  of  the  death  of  her  husband. 
He  had  died  on  shipboard.  There  was  not  the  pos- 
sibility of  a  mistake.  A  ship  from  America  was 
being  held  in  quarantine  owing  to  the  death  of  sev- 
eral of  its  passengers.  In  the  printed  list  of  the 
dead  was  the  name  of  "  Monsieur  Martin  Les  Page> 
of  New  York,  returning  to  France  after  an 
absence  of  years."  Therese  was  free. 

A  few  weeks  later  a   little  grave  was  made  by 


THERESE.  213 

ihe  side  of  Mrs.   Newton's,  and   the  young  mother 
grieved  anew  for  a  little  life  gone  out. 

****** 

Daring  all  these  weeks  of  intense  feeling  in 
their  own  home  circle,  the  Stevensons  had  also  been 
keenly  alive  to  an  event  of  great  importance  about 
occurring  in  what  they  were  pleased  to  call  "their 
home  church"  in  Burton.  This  event  appealed 
most  strongly  to  all  such  who  had  worshiped  years 
ago  in  the  little  log  house.  Not  only  had  that  been 
outgrown  as  we  have  seen,  but  also  the  "frame" 
structure  which  superseded  it,  and  now  a  really 
elegant  "stone,"  with  all  the  modern  conveniences 
of  lecture,  Sunday  school  and  class  rooms  stood 
ready  for  dedication.  And  more,  Dr.  Blank,  an 
editor  who  was  well  known  to  this  people  by  the 
tempting  dish  of  mental  viands  which  he  weekly 
served,  was  to  preach  the  dedicatory  sermon. 
There  were  many  homes  in  Burton  that  would 
gladly  have  opened  to  the  honored  guest,  but  as  it 
happened,  this  editor  knew  of  the  brave  young 
girl  who  but  so  lately  had  gone  from  the  Stevenson 
home,  and  had  met  and  talked  with  the  son  who  was 
preparing  himself  for  his  chosen  life  work.  What 
more  natural  than  that  he  should  desire  to  know  the 
father  and  mother.  He  proved  an  eloquent 
preacher  in  the  pulpit,  and  a  sharp  student  of 
human  nature  in  the  home.  Indeed  he  had  really 
entered  this  home  as  a  searcher  after  a  cause.  He 
had  seen  the  effect  in  the  two  young  lives  just 


214  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

mentioned.  "Did  some  unsuspected  talent",  he 
asked  himself,  "exist  in  this  plain  father  and 
mother,  which  perhaps  being  smothered  by  the 
meagre  educational  facilities  of  their  early  life  had 
reappeared  in  their  children?''  but  he  had  not  been 
in  the  home  a  day,  till  he  thought  he  had  discov- 
ered the  secret.  The  book  shelves  between  the 
flower-filled  windows  had  gently  whispered  in  his 
ear,  calling  his  attention  to  the  well  selected  vol- 
umes with  which  they  were  rilled.  Glancing  the 
titles  over  he  found  they  had  been  culled  from 
every  realm,  and  touched  upon  every  topic  vital  to 
the  interest  of  a  soul,  and  each  book  bore  the 
marks  of  careful  reading. 

From  his  first  entrance  into  the  home  he  had 
been  strongly  attracted  toward  Edward,  and  think- 
ing to  push  the  acquaintance  with  the  shy,  reticent 
lad,  he  suggested  a  drive  over  the  prairie.  Under 
such  circumstances  the  acquaintance  progressed 
rapidly,  for  as  the  shyness  wore  off  Edward 
proved  himself  so  well  informed,  and  withal  such  a 
good  conversationalist,  that  the  genial  editor  began 
to  feel  as  though  he  was  in  company  with  one  of 
his  compeers  rather  than  a  country  lad.  Just  as 
they  were  nearing  the  edge  of  a  bit  of  woodland 
Edward  suddenly  drew  rein  and  unceremoniously 
handing  the  lines  to  his  companion,  sprang  out  and 
began  at  once  to  carefully  remove  from  the  soil  a 
plant  growing  by  the  roadside.  Lovingly  he 
brought  his  treasure  back.  "It  is,"  said  he  in 


THERESE.  215- 

explanation,  "a- good  specimen  of  the  Lymegrass.  I 
needed  just  this  to  make  my  collection  of  grasses 
complete  for  this  -locality.  " 

Now  if  Dr.  Blank  had  one  hobby  above  another, 
it  was  the  study  of  plant  life,  and  these  two,  under 
the  influence  of  this  new  bond,  soon  became  fast 
friends,  the  Doctor  waxing  eloquent  in  the  discus- 
sion of  his  favorite  theme,  aud  the  boy  listening  as 
under  a  spell,  and  when  the  next  day  the  guest  was 
leaving  he  quietly  wrote  in  his  private  reference 
book  the  name  of  his  young  friend,  Edward 
Stevenson. 

Thanks  to  Louise's  tact  and  influence  John  at  the 
opening  of  the  year  was  ready  and  glad  to  join  Ruth 
and  Edward  in  the  Academy,  but  practical  as  of  old, 
he  insisted  on  "picking"  his  studies  and  laughed  to 
scorn  the  suggestion  of  such  studies  as  he  deemed 
of  little  use  in  the  actual  battles  of  life. 

"  Baby  Rose "  was  a  baby  no  longer,  but  was 
fast  becoming  her  mother's  chief  helper.  She  was 
a  quiet  home  loving  child,  very  like  her  brother 
John  in  appearance.  When  people  saw  her  they 
were  apt  to  say,  "She  will  make  a  sensible,  prac- 
tical woman,"  and  noticing  her  deft  movements 
would  be  inclined  to  say  that  some  day  in  a  home  of 
her  own  she  would  find  her  sweetest  joy.  She  is 
not  destined  to  thrill  the  world  with  her  music,  but 
like  her  sister  Ruth,  her  voice  and  touch  chord 
wonderfully  well  with  the  simple  home  tunes, 
and  hearing  her,  her  father  vaguely  recalls  his 


-216  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

o\vn  mother  who  is  but  a  shadow  of  memory. 
So  strangely  are  voice  and  form,  yes,  and  mind  and 
soul  characteristics  handed  down  from  one  genera- 
tion to  another.  Perhaps  of  all  the  family  none 
grieved  so  much  as  she  for  Louise. 

She  was  not  old  enough  as  were  the  others  to 
comfort  herself  with  the  nobleness  of  the  action,  nor 
yet  to  realize  how  much  good  she  would  do  across 
the  sea.  She  had  been  so  proud  of  her  when  she 
had  come  home  from  the  college,  and  listened  won- 
deringly  at  the  rare  sweet  music  of  her  voice,  her 
private  opinion  being  that  the  angels  made  no  such 
music.  And  now  she  was  gone,  gone  out  of  her 
life  forever,  and  the  loyal  little  heart  refused  to  be 
comforted.  Before  her  going  Louise  had  taken 
her  in  her  arms  and  told  her  of  the  many  homeless 
little  girls  whom  she  was  going  to  work  for,  but  no 
matter  how  dark  she  painted  the  picture  the  result 
was  the  same.  Rose  clung  almost  wildly  to  the 
sweet  sister  who  was  going. 

Indeed  the  home  hearts  all  ached.  They  were 
happy  in  the  thought  of  her  usefulness,  but  that 
illy  took  the  place  of  the  sunny  living  presence. 

As  soon  as  it  had  time  to  reach  them  a  letter  came 
which  depicted  the  life  so  plainly,  and  was  so  rich 
in  expressions  of  love,  that  with  its  reading  the 
absent  one  seemed  nearer. 

Perhaps  we  cannot  do  better  than  to  look  in  on 
•the  writer. 

The  long,  wearisome  ocean  journey   was   at   last 


ON  BOTH  SIDES  OF  AN  OCEAN.  217 

ended.  The  missionary  party  consisted  of  Mr. 
Winters  and  his  bride  and  the  English  stranger. 
«4  It  was  a  good  thing,"  Louise  wrote,  "  that  these 
last  were  of  the  party,  for  the  Winters  were  so 
dreadfully  absorbed  in  each  other  she  might  as  well 
have  been  sailing  in  another  ocean."  A  mission 
was  alreadv  started  in  the  city  of  Foochow  and 
they  were  to  go  there,  stay  awhile,  get  an 
inkling  of  the  language,  and  then  push  on  to  the 
interior  province  which  was  to  be  their  work. 

Had  it  not  been  for  that  wonderful  "something" 
that  years  ago  at  the  plain  altar  of  the  little  home 
church,  had  come  in  and  wondrously  filled  this 
young  heart,  her  soul  must  have  fainted  within  her 
as  she  first  looked  upon  the  unspeakable  degrad- 
ation of  those  she  had  come  to  help.  As  she  went 
through  the  narrow,  reeking  streets  hunting  for 
days  for  a  lodging  place,  and  for  weeks  for  a  room 
however  small  to  begin  the  school,  she  began  to 
experience  the  trial  of  her  faith,  but  there  is  One 
who  has  promised  "  He  will  never  leave  nor  forsake 
His  children,"  and  in  those  dark  early  days  of  her 
missionary  life  she  wonderfully  verified  the  promise. 
After  a  time  she  learned  the  language  sufficiently 
to  be  able  to  tell  the  simple  "  old  story,"  but  it  was 
not  always  possible  to  get  listeners. 

One    day    a    miserable   creature,  a    woman,  had 

pushed  her  out  of  the  room  where  she  had  gone  to 

talk  with  her.     About  the  door  swarmed  a  crowd 

of    dirty    children.       Suddenly*  the   misery    and 

15 


218  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

wretchedness  of  it  all  swept  through  her  mind,  and 
yet,  Christ  died  for  these  ;  and  His  gospel  if 
allowed  to  come  into  these  lives  would  uplift  them,, 
cleanse  not  only  their  souls  but  their  polluted  bodies 
as  well.  With  a  yearning  perhaps  akin  to  that  of 
the  Master  when  He  wept  over  Jerusalem,  this 
brave  young  girl  longed  to  help  these  wretched 
ones  into  a  better  life.  As  she  paused,  suddenly 
the  words  and  music  of  a  home  Sunday  school 
hymn  came  into  her  mind,  and  scarcely  conscious 
of  what  she  did  that  sweet,  rich  voice  that  had  in 
other  days  held  entranced  the  most  cultured  audi- 
ences, rang  out  on  the  stifling  hot  air.  The  little 
children  stopped  their  play,  wretched  women 
peered  out  from  the  doorway  of  what  they  called 
home,  laborers  stopped  in  the  narrow,  dirty  street 
and  many  followed  the  "  foreign  lady  "  to  hear  her 
sing. 

No  need  afterwards  to  hunt  an  audience,  for  the 
audiences  sought  the  singer.  And  yet  in  the  home 
land  there  had  been  those  who  had  grieved  over 
this  buried  talent. 

About  the  time  that  commencement  roses  had 
again  begun  to  bloom  in  the  college  campus,  rich  in 
associations  to  both  Asbury  and  Louise,  a  little 
room  in  the  most  crowded  part  of  that  great 
Chinese  city  had  been  obtained,  and  Louise  as  the 
teacher  of  five  little  Chinese  girls  felt  her  life  work 
had  begun.  The  Girls'  College  of  Interior  China 
had  been  founded. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

SOME  GRADUATES — A  WEDDING. 

HE  same  June  that  witnessed  the  planting  of 
the  "Mustard  Seed"  across  the  ocean  was 
unusually  fraught  with  interest  to  the  Stev- 
enson home.  In  the  very  first  weeks  Edward  and 
Ruth  went  out  from  the  halls  of  the  home  Academy, 
and  it  was  conceded  that  among  all  the  long  list 
•of  honorable  alumni  which  this  growing  institution 
was  beginning  to  boast,  there  had  not  gone  out 
more  thorough  students  than  this  brother  and 
sister.  The  future  plan  was  that  these  both  should 
both  in  the  Fall  attend  the  college.  Asbury  was 
just  leaving. 

While  their  graduation  was  of  great  interest  to 
the  home,  yet  it  was  overshadowed  by  something 
that  had  lately  been  whispered  about  in  connection 
with  the  closing  days  of  Asbury's  school  life. 

About  the  last  of  June  he  would  receive  the  bit 
of  parchment,  the  visible  sign  of  that  for  which  he 
had  been  striving.  Then  instead  of  coming  at 
once  westward,  he  was  to  make  the  journey  East, 


220  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

and  in  the  same  rich  old  church  where  perhaps  the 
echoes  of  his  sister's  voice  still  lingered,  Louise's 
dearest  friend  Emma  was  to  become  his  wife. 

These  were  busy  days  for  both  Rachel  and 
Ruth.  There  were  so  many  tidying  touches  to  be 
given  here  and  there  before  the  sweet  young  bride 
should  arrive,  and  it  was  little  wonder  that  as  they 
worked,  often  the  tears  would  fall  as  they  thought 
of  the  absent  one  who  far  away,  amid  surroundings 
they  felt  sure  their  home  eyes  could  not  picture,  had 
in  a  manner  died  to  the  joys  of  the  home. 

"  Oh  yes,"  thought  Rachel,  "if  Louise  were  only 
here,  she  in  her  own  peculiar  way  would  lend  a 
charm  to  the  humble  home."  It  must  not  be 
thought  this  mother  gave  her  eldest  daughter  grudg- 
ingly to  the  Lord's  service.  No,  she  would  not 
have  uttered  the  words  that  would  have  held  her 
back,  but  the  mother  heart  ached,  and  sometimes 
the  mother  arms  seemed  unconsciouslv  to  again 
clasp  this  loved  one  to  her  breast,  and  perhaps  after 
all,  He  who  planted  the  mother  love  did  not  think 
less  of  the  sacrifice  because  it  was  offered  amid  the 
throes  of  an  aching  heart. 

The  morning  of  their  expected  arrival  at  last 
dawned  clear  and  bright.  The  little  cottage  really 
wore  quite  a  holiday  air.  Surveying  her  finished 
work,  practical  Ruth  gave  the  keynote  to  the 
family  feeling  when  she  said,  "We  may  do  what 
we  will,  and  our  home  never  be  anything  like  the 
home  Emma  is  leaving,  and  the  most  we  can  do  is 


A  WEDDING.  221 

to  be  our  own  true  selves  and  give  her  a  hearty 
welcome."  And  they  did,  and  Emma,  child  of  the 
city  as  she  was,  thought  in  all  her  life  she  had  seen 
nothing  so  beautiful  as  the  cheery  home  room  with 
its  flutter  of  white  curtains  and  odor  of  home-grown 
flowers. 

Emma  was  her  old  sprightly  self.  Not  a  few  of 
her  city  friends  had  drawn  sombre  shaded  pictures 
of  the  privations  that  would  be  hers  as  the  wife  of 
a  western  itinerant.  To  all  this  banter  she  replied 
in  the  same  vein,  adding  she  had  nothing  to  fear. 
Had  she  not  run  the  entire  gamut  of  economy  dur- 
ing the  days  of  her  club  life,  and  if  everything  else 
failed,  she  had  understood  that  the  West  was  noted 
for  \\.sjine  -potatoes. 

Yes,  she  was  going  willingly  to  share,  as  the 
future  might  prove,  the  joys  or  sorrows,  triumphs 
or  failures  of  this  young  student.  After  all  we 
opine  that  there  will  be  but  few  failures. 

Asbury  is  a  close  student.  He  has  strong  con- 
victions of  right  and  wrong.  Aside  from  his  colleg- 
iate education,  his  whole  home  life  has  been  one 
long  school,  in  which  the  lessons  of  loyalty  and 
devotion  to  the  church,  as  well  as  intelligence  con- 
cerning her  history  and  scope,  have  been  well 
learned.  Moreover,  the  "fathers"  say,  he  can 
"preach."  His  chosen  companion  has  both  graces 
of  mind  and  of  person,  besides,  too,  her  natural 
sprightliness  of  disposition  offsets  well  the  sterner 
gravity  of  his  nature. 


222  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

One  tiling  time  can  never  touch  or  efface,  and 
that  is  the  deep,  invincible  hatred  which  she  has  in 
her  heart  towards  that  great  evil  which  in  our 
modern  times  is  like  the  fabled  gorgon  living  by 
devouring  our  young  men.  Along  with  this  hatred 
born  as  we  know  of  a  bitter  experience,  is  a  tender, 
pitying  love  for  the  victims.  It  will  not  be  surpris- 
ing if  the  future  holds  some  special  work  along  this 
line  for  her. 

They  are  to  go  at  once  to  a  far  western  state 
and  amid  scenes  new  to  each  are  to  begin  the  solv- 
ing of  their  own  life  problem.  How  happy  they 
are!  How  many  lofty  dreams  for  the  future! 
The  college  orations  have  been  so  full  of  such 
flowery  terms  as  "  whitened  fields,"  "  awaiting  the 
sickle,"  and  such  like,  that  thev  imagine  the  future 
as  a  smiling  goddess  coming  more  than  half  way  to 
meet  them,  her  arms  full  of  bundles  lahled 
"Success."  Well,  they  are  young!  We  who  are 
older  may  smile,  knowing  well  that  time  will  brush 
away  many  of  these  illusions,  yet  we  would  not 
have  youth  one  whit  less  hopeful. 

Among  the  guests  who  came  to  do  honor  to  the 
wedding  occasion  was  Earnest  Warren,  Asbury's 
dearest  friend  during  all  his  collegiate  years.  He 
found  the  sweet  home  life  of  the  cottage  very 
attractive.  He  has  yet  another  year  in  college, 
and  Ruth,  too,  expects  to  begin  in  September.  We 
should  not  be  a  bit  surprised  if . 

On  the  morning  of  the  departure  of  Asbury  and 


A  WEDDING.  223 

his  young  wife,  Edward  was  surprised  to  receive  a 
communication  which  showed  his  honored  friend, 
the  editor,  had  not  forgotten  him.  There  was  an 
expedition  which  an  association  of  scientists  were 
sending  out,  made  up  of  two  or  three  professors 
from  so  many  colleges,  whose  object  was  to  classify 
and  study  the  flora  of  certain  parts  of  the  North- 
west. He  had  asked  for  and  obtained  a  place  on 
the  expedition  for  Edward.  He  well  knew  how 
much  this  would  mean  to  the  boy,  not  only  the 
association  with  the  learned  men,  but  an  opportu- 
nity to  push  his  studies  in  plant  life. 

Indeed,  nothing  would  have  pleased  this  staid, 
gray  haired  man  himself,  better  than  to  have  joined 
the  expedition  and  taken  the  tramp  with  the  party, 
but  how  could  he,  with  his  great, .clamorous,  «'  read- 
ing family  "  who  would  never  have  consented  that 
their  mental  purveyor  should  have  gone  off  junket- 
ing and  left  them  to  fare  as  best  they  might,  but  he 
felt  a  real  boyish  thrill  as  he  sent  the  welcome  news 
to  Edward. 

And  Edward  ;  if  he  had  suddenly  stumbled  upon 
the  pot  of  gold  which  tradition  has  assigned  to  the 
end  of  the  rainbow,  he  could  not  have  been  more 
surprised  and  delighted.  Being  the  "  boy  "  of  the 
party,  he  was  assigned  certain  chores,  which  if 
done  paid  all  expenses,  and  allowed  him  time  for 
the  prosecution  of  his  favorite  study.  Within  a 
week  after  the  receipt  of  the  letter  he  had  com- 
pleted his  arrangements  and  was  off. 


224  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

How  strangely  still  the  house  was  during  all  that 
summer  ;  only  three  children  left  of  the  old  romp- 
ing noisy  half  dozen,  and  of  these  three  John  and 
Rachel  could  not  hope  that  Time  would  spare  them 
much  longer,  for  like  a  hurrying  stream  it  was 
bearing  them  rapidly  to  the  responsibilities  of  life. 
During  this  Summer  Ruth  and  Rose  greatly 
relieved  the  mother  of  the  cares  of  the  house,  while 
John  the  younger  became  almost  the  sole  manager 
of  the  "  store."  There  had  never  been  a  regret 
over  this  last  venture.  It  provided  an  income  suffi- 
cient for  the  needs  of  the  family.  The  home  was 
not  yet  their  own  but  the  future  seemed  hopeful. 

Relieved  of  care,  the  father  and  mother  began  to 
find  time  for  a  renewal  of  the  old  companionship 
which  during  the  busy  days  of  the  last  few  years 
had  been  largely  lost  in  mutal  anxiety  for  the  wel- 
fare of  their  children.  It  came  to  be  a  very  usual 
sight  for  them  to  be  seen  sitting  either  in  the 
shadow  of  the  vine-covered  porch,  or  under  the 
heavy  boughs  of  the  maple  in  the  back  yard. 

Once  as  William  Newton  went  by  hurriedly  he 
saw  them  thus.  A  bitter  wave  of  feeling  swept 
over  him.  Why  was  his  home  so  desolate,  his 
beautiful  wife  gone,  and  his  son,  the  idol  of  his 
heart,  a  wanderer?  He  knew  that  as  this  con- 
tented pair  talked  together  more  than  likely  their 
conversation  was  of  their  children  who  bid  fair  to 
be  the  crown  of  their  old  age.  But  his  heart 
answered  his  question.  The  Creator  of  each  could 


A  WEDDING.  225 

not  be  charged  with  partiality.  Centuries  before 
the  warning  had  been  sounded,  "  Whatsoever  a 
man  soweth,  that  shall  he  also  reap." 

"  Yes,"  he  bitterly  acknowledged  to  himself,  "We 
were  wrong,  all  wrong,  from  beginning  to  end;  and 
they  of  the  farm  were  right.  Life  should  mean 
more  than  a  struggle  for  riches,  and  there  are  pleas- 
ures more  real,  more  .lasting  than  are  those  which 
appeal  to  the  senses  or  upon  which  "Society" 
stamps  her  approval. 

The  quiet  Summer  afforded  an  opportunity,  toor 
for  Ruth  and  Therese  to  get  their  friendship  back 
upon  the  grounds  of  loving  comradeship. 

Poor  Therese;  it  took  many  loving  words  from 
Ruth  to  convince  her  that  her  life  was  not  irretriev- 
ably ruined.  She  could  readily  see  her  coming  had 
been  a  blessing  to  her  father,  for  though  the  home 
could  never  again  take  on  its  own  cheery  air,  yet  it 
was  growing  brighter.  The  human  heart  hungers 
for  its  own,  and  William  Newton  found  his  life  hap- 
pier as  the  strangely  quiet  woman  who  had  come 
back  to  him  in  place  of  the  old  gay,  romping 
Therese,  went  about  the  rooms,  giving  them  here 
and  there  a  home  touch.  Thus  far  as  she  recog- 
nized her  usefulness  to  her  father  she  was  glad, 
otherwise  she  was  wont  to  say  she  better  never 
have  lived.  Her  sister  Marie,  conscious  of  her  own 
upright  life,  the  honored  wife  of  one  of  Burton's 
wealthiest  young  men,  happy  in  her  own  home^ 
proud  of  her  two  sweet  little  children,  had  not  met 


1226  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

this  young  sister  with  outstretched  arms;  indeed 
there  was  that  in  her  haughty  manner  which  always 
reminded  Therese  of  her  disgrace.  She  had  put 
on  the  heaviest  mourning  for  "poor  mamma,"  had 
felt  shocked  over  "  papa's  failure,"  and  now  to  have 
Therese  come  straggling  in  and  bring  the  matter 
back  fresh  into  the  minds  of  all  seemed  too  much. 
Better,  much  better  would  it  have  been,  she  thought, 
if  Therese  had  born  her  troubles  in  silence.  Let 
us  not  judge  of  her  harshly,  she  was  only  a  selfish 
society  woman,  eager  for  the  praise  of  her  little 
world,  as  vapid  as  herself. 

"No,  no,  Ruth,"  Therese  was  saying  as  she  and 
Ruth  talked  together  "You  know  all  about  it.  I 
cannot  undo  the  past,  my  life  is  ruined.  I  am  really 
rit  for  nothing.  I  have  no  education;  I  have  learned 
a  little  smattering  of  several  things,but  I  know  noth- 
ing thoroughly.  I  never  learned  even  to  do  house- 
work as  did  you.  For  such  a  person  I  see  now  all 
too  clearly  there  is  no  place  in  all  this  busy  world. 
Even  if  it  were  not  for  my  miserable  marriage, 
I  should  have  to  write  "  failure  "  over  my  life." 

And  the  hopeless  manner  in  which  she  folded  her 
arms  and  looked  over  toward  the  gleaming  stones 
in  the  not  far  distant  cemetery  spoke  more 
eloquently  than  could  words  of  the  despair  she  felt 
in  her  heart. 

Ruth  had  no  words  for  reply,  but  she  gently 
kissed  her  and  said  as  she  was  leaving,  "  You  may 
feel  thus  now,  but  nevertheless  I  am  sure  there  is  a 


A  WEDDING.  227 

future  for  you,  and  in  it  you  will  find  your  work 
and  your  happiness  ;  and  in  the  years  to  come  you 
will  look  upon  these  unhappy  years  as  a  dream." 

That  evening  Ruth  gave  the  substance  of  the 
conversation  to  her  mother.  Rachel  was  lost  in 
thought  for  a  time.  Finally  she  said,  "  Therese  is 
right  in  one  thing.  She  has  not  sufficient  educa- 
tion for  a  successful  life.  I  do  ^not  mean  the  mere 
knowledge  one  gains  from  text  books,  for  there  are 
those  whom  circumstances  have  kept  from  the 
schools  who  by  perseverance  have  largely  made  up 
for  this  lack  and  have  given  themselves  a  broader 
and  truer  outlook  of  life.  Something  of  this  kind 
is  what  Therese  needs,  something  that  will  lift  her 
out  of  herself.  Do  you  remember  the  strategy 
Louise  used  to  interest  John,  and  how  thankful  we 
all  are  of  the  result  ?  " 

We  cannot  stop  to  detail  the  steps  with  which 
Ruth  began  at  once  to  bring  about  this  result.  She 
carefully  selected  the  books  she  hoped  would 
interest  Therese,  and  read  her  paragraphs  from 
them.  All  this  judiciously  that  she  might  not  sus- 
pect her  design.  Finally,  when  she  thought  the 
time  ripe,  she  suggested  a  home  course  of  study, 
this  under  cover  of  a  desire  to  review  some  of  her 
own  studies,  and  before  Therese  realized  it  the 
horror  of  the  old  life  was  slipping  away  and  her 
active  young  brain  was  awakening  to  the  interests 
of  the  great  throbbing  world,  which  from  the  days 
of  Adam  has  ever  found  a  place  for  each  earnest 


228  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

worker  that  has  knocked  at  its  portals.  Aside  from 
the  educational  need,  Ruth  felt  sure  Therese  would 
never  fully  drop  her  burdens  till  they  were  lost  in  a 
living  Christian  faith.  Here  again  if  she  would  be 
successful  she  dared  not  be  obtrusive,  but  before 
the  summer  ended  a  slight,  shrinking  little  figure, 
heavily  clad  in  black,  was  found  each  Sabbath  by 
Ruth's  side  in  the  Stevenson  pew,  and  to  ihe 
gentle  ministry  of  this  young  Christian  who  years 
ago,  in  the  little  log  church,  had  found  how  sweet 
it  was  to  lose  her  life  in  His,  we  may  safely  leave 
for  a  time  this  childhood  friend,  trusting  her  to 
impart  something  of  her  own  simple  faith. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

SEPTEMBER A  LETTER. 

EPTEMBER  is  always  a  busy  month.  Dur- 
ing  its  days  the  summer  idlers,  as  well  as  the 
CY^>  summer  resters  return,  the  one  to  listen  again 
to  the  alluring  yet  wearying  calls  of  society,  the 
other  to  take  up  the  burdens  of  life  afresh  in  the 
office,  the  pulpit  or  at  the  desk. 

The  schoolhouses  that  during  the  hot,  dusty 
months  have  stood  with  their  doors  closed  now 
have  them  flung  wide  open,  and  from  all  over  the 
land  in  country,  town  and  city,  a  long  procession  of 
little  feet  take  up  the  march  and  in  a  twinkling 
these  empty,  gaunt,  sentinel-like  buildings  wear- 
ing an  hour  ago  an  air  of  complete  desertion,  are 
teeming  with  life. 

The  quickening  life  blood,  too,  pulsates  through 
the  great  halis  of  the  colleges,  and  homes  are  yield- 
ing to  them  their  choicest  treasures.  If  it  were 
possible  they  would  gladly  retain  them  longer;  -but 
no,  there  is  nothing  so  necessary  as  that  they  be 
prepared  for  the  inevitable  future.  So  they  bid 
them  Godspeed,  sending  as  a  charge  to  the  college 


230  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

that  receives  them  this  message  from  the  poet 
king :  "See  to  it  that  our  sons  may  be  as  plants 
grown  up  in  their  youth; that  our  daughters  may  be 
as  corner-stones,  polished  after  the  similitude  of  a 
palace." 

Edward  Stevenson  returned  from  his  summer 
jaunt  of  work  and  pleasure  as  rugged  and  brown 
as  though  he  had  been  harvesting  on  the  old  farm 
acres.  These  weeks  had  meant  much  to  him, 
much  in  the  everyday  association  with  men  of 
education  and  culture.  He  had  also  been  a 
careful  student,  and  had  often  surprised  the  other 
members  of  the  party  by  his  accurate  knowledge 
of  plant  habits.  During  the  summer  he  was  of 
great  use  in  classifying  and  arranging  the  flora  of 
the  localities  they  studied,  and  in  addition  brought 
home  a  really  excellent  collection  of  his  own.  Some- 
thing else  happened,  which  because  of  its  bearing 
upon  his  future  deserves  mention.  This  was  the 
publication  of  his  first  article.  His  editor  friend 
had  said  to  him,  "now  if  this  jaunt  has  any  interest- 
ing incidents  that  you  think  would  read  well,  write 
them  up  and  send  them  to  me.  I  won't  promise  to 
publish,  but  you  know,"  with  that  twinkle  of  the 
eye  Edward  had  come  to  know,  "we  are  always 
after  the  best.'" 

To  Edward  the  whole  seemed  full  of  interest,  so 
he  wrote  up  a  modest  little  account  of  a  few  days' 
work,  naming  his  brain  child  "After  some  Flowers," 
and  in  course  of  time  it  was  published.  He 


SEPTEMBER.  231 

managed  to  live  through  the  sensation  of  first 
seeing  it  in  print,  and  (though  he  would  never  have 
supposed  it)  life  went  on  quite  as  usual.  Of  course 
Mother  Rachel  read  it,  and  like  another  mother 
as  she  thought  of  his  future,  "she  kept  these  things 
and  pondered  them  in  her  heart." 

But  now  he  was  home;  yes,  and  his  belongings, 
as  were  Ruth's,  were  packed,  and  as  Asbury  and 
Louise  had  gone  years  ago,  so  these  were  going  to 
the  same  college.  How  vividly  that  other  Septem- 
ber came  back,  as  with  a  liurried  benediction  and 
prayer  these  two  left  the  home. 

Rachel  had  been  called  to  the  gate  by  the  depart- 
ing party  to  answer  a  question.  As  she  started  to 
return  to  the  house  a  sharp  gust  of  wind  rattled  the 
great  tree  by  the  path  and  blew  from  its  branches 
a  nest  which  in  the  Spring  had  been  a  perpetual 
source  of  delight,  with  its  wealth  of  young  bird 
life.  "  Ah,  well;  perhaps  it  is  only  natural,"  thought 
Rachel  through  her  tears,  "that  young  birds  should 
fly,  but  how  desolate  they  leave  the  nest." 

And  desolate  indeed  seemed  the  home.  It  was 
useless  to  put  on  a  mask  and  feign  a  cheerfulness 
neither  parent  felt.  Yes,  the  young  birds  were 
flying,  and  with  them  much  of  the  cheer  of  the 
home  life.  Edward  and  Ruth  had  left  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  as  they  gathered  about  the  small  table  for 
the  noon  meal  the  mother  broke  down,  and  gave 
up  trying  to  hide  her  sense  of  loss.  As  she  lay  on 
the  couch  in  the  living  room  her  youngest  son  said, 


232  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

"  Mother,  don't  grieve.  You  have  at  least  one 
child  who  will  remain  at  home.  I  never  intend  to 
leave."  "  Nor  I,"  chimed  in  Rose,  and  they  kept 
their  word. 

John  had  yet  another  year  in  the  academy.  The 
last  few  months  had  witnessed  a  wonderful  change 
in  the  sun-browned  boy  of  the  farm.  He  was  not 
the  same  pattern  with  his  ministerial  brother 
Asbury,  nor  yet  of  the  closer  student  Edward,  but 
in  his  own  practical  way  was  likelv  to  be  as  useful 
«is  either. 

The  boys  and  girls  of  this  family  were  all  of 
good  physique,  well  formed  and  with  suppleness  of 
grace  that  indicates  the  sensibly  reared  family  of 
young  people.  This  was  particularlv  true  of  John. 
He  was  a  great  tall,  broad-shouldered  fellow  with 
dark  eyes  and  hair  to  match.  The  latter  with  its 
soft  wavy,  curl  would  have  been  the  envy  of  a 
•modern  belle.  His  voice  was  very  like  his  father's, 
with  a  gentle  cadence  that  made  it  peculiarly 
acceptable  either  in  sickness  or  anxiety,  and  his 
touch  was  as  gentle  as  a  woman's.  Like  Louise, 
he  had  always  been  particularly  helpful,  indoors  as 
well  as  out.  About  every  home  there  are  always 
numberless  little  "turns"  by  which,  if  willing  to  do 
them,  a  man  can  wonderfully  lighten  the  household 
cares.  Those  in  the  Stevenson  home  came  natur- 
ally to  be  left  for  John.  It  was  understood  when 
this  last  academic  year  was  finished  he  would 
.assume  the  entire  management  of  the  "store." 


A  LETTER.  233 

He  was  fast  becoming  of  great  use  in  the  church^ 
though  naturally  shy.  As  the  result  of  a  conversa- 
tion with  Louise  before  her  going  he  had  begun 
using  his  talents,  and  was  developing  as  only 
young  Christians  can  who  do  this,  yet  his  practical 
views  of  life  were  shown  here  as  elsewhere.  About 
a  year  before  this  he  had  heard  a  sermon  on  "giv- 
ing" which  greatly  impressed  him.  As  a  result  he 
resolved  to  keep  a  careful  account  of  his  expenses 
and  "pay  over,"  as  he  termed  it,  the  tenth.  When 
the  question  of  finances  came  up  in  the  church  his 
A'lews  were  always  so  correct  that  unconsciously 
these  matters  came  to  be  left  more  and  more  to 
him,  and  though  the  problem  of  church  finances 
was  often  perplexing,  yet  he  came  nearer  its  solu- 
tion than  any  one  else. 

While  we  have  been  lingering  thus  long,  taking 
a  final  peep  at  the  home  that  has  so  interested  us} 
the  students  have  been  adjusting  themselves  to  the 
year's  work. 

They  did  not  enter  the  college  as  strangers,  for 
their  elder  brother  and  sister  had  left  a  fragrant 
memory,  and  they  were  not  long  in  finding  their 
own  niche  in  this  busy  hive  of  workers. 

Edward's  tastes  inclined  him  to  pay  special  heed 
to  the  sciences.  As  for  Ruth,  she  continued  the 
same  thorough,  painstaking  student  the  home 
academy  had  known. 

This  year,  with  its  routine  of  study,  proved  une- 
16 


234  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

^entful,  but  was  none  the  less  successful  on  that 
account. 

The  latter  part  of  the  winter  was  remarkable  for 
a  religious  awakening,  which  spread  until  nearly  all 
of  the  several  hundred  students  who  were  not  already 
professing  Christians  were  converted.  None  who 
went  through  these  strange  weeks  could  ever  forget 
them.  The  "Fathers"  might  tell  of  the  old-time 
campmeeting,  with  its  rapturous  shouts,  and  fervent 
amens,  yet  this  more  modern  movement,  having  its 
birth  and  carried  on  amid  those  who  were  nothing 
if  not  cultured,  was  not  vastly  different.  There 
was  the  old-time  conviction  of  sin,  and  if  one 
might  judge  from  the  radiant  faces,  there  was 
the  old-time  realization  of  one's  own  personal 
acceptance. 

During  all  these  weeks  Edwa/d  Stevenson  was 
strangely  wrought  upon.  For  years  he  had 
never  questioned  his  personal  relationship  to  his 
Saviour,  but  his  tastes  and  inclinations  were  quiet, 
and  he  had  never  taken  an  active  part  in  the  church, 
but  now — perhaps  it  was  the  result  of  the  wonderful 
prayer  meetings  among  the  young  men,  perhaps  it 
was  the  influence  of  his  favorite  professor  who 
made  it  a  point  to  bring  out  and  interest  every 
young  man  within  his  reach  (alas  that  in  his  col- 
lege days  Richard  Newton  had  not  known  such  a 
friend) — but  whatever  the  cause,  he  suddenly  devel- 
oped genuine  leadership,  and  until  the  close  of  the 
meetings  his  voice  was  constantly  heard  in  prayer 


A  LETTER.  235 

and  exhortation,  so  much  so  that  a  short  time  after 
their  close  he  was  given  a  license  to  preach.  When 
this  news  was  carried  home  his  father  and  mother 
could  scarcely  credit  it.  "  No,  I  cannot  take  it  in," 
was  his  mother's  comment,  "yet  I  should  be  glad  if 
this  should  prove  his  life  work."  But  John  said,  "The 
idea!  if  Edward  should  happen  to  have  a  book  on 
hands  he  was  interested  in,  he  would  certainly  for- 
get any  appointment  to  preach  which  he  might 
have."" 

Thus  fraught  with  duties  the  weeks  went  by, 
until  the  coming  of  June,  when  the  home  at  Burton 
again  smiled  a  welcome  to  its  student  inmates. 
Edward  came  home  only  for  a  brief  visit,  as  he  had 
been  offered  work  in  an  editorial  office.  This  did 
not  promise  to  be  nearly  so  interesting  as  his  last 
summer's  jaunt,  but  though  he  little  thought  it,  this 
became  the  ground-work  upon  which  his  future 
largely  rested. 

Before  Ruth's  return  she  wrote  her  parents  that 
she  had  something  to  tell  them  which  she  r.ould 
not  write.  They  easily  guessed  her  sweet  secret, 
and  it  took  only  a  glance  at  the  plain  gold  band 
which  she  wore  upon  her  return  to  confirm  their  sus- 
picion. This  had  been  Earnest  Warren's  last  year  in 
college.  It  was  little  wonder  that  he  desired  to  win 
for  himself  this  young  girl  whose  gentle,  gracious 
ways,  as  he  had  seen,  had  made  her  presence  in  her 
father's  home  a  benediction.  He  had  expected  to 
enter  the  ministry,  but  he  had  been  offered  a  posi- 


236  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

tion  as  teacher  in  a  young  college.  This  seemed  to 
suit  his  present  inclination  and  it  was  arranged  that 
in  a  year  or  two  he  would  claim  his  bride. 

The  memory  of  Ruth's  successful  school  term 
still  lingered  in  the  home  neighborhood,  so  much  so 
that  she  was  offered  a  position  as  one  of  the  teach- 
ers in  the  home  academy.  She  finally  reluctantly 
concluded  to  forego  another  collegiate  year,  yet  she 
did  not  mean  her  education  to  cease,  for  she  began 
a  course  of  home  study  and  pursued  it  unwear- 
iedly. 

Very  often  at  this  time  the  thoughts  of  both  Ruth 
and  her  mother  turned  with  a  new  tenderness  to  that 
brave  one  so  many  miles  away.  Until  now  Ruth 
had  not  realized  what  the  anguish  of  Louise  must 
have  been  when  she  had  seen  her  happiness 
shipwrecked,  but  this  realization  began  to  dawn 
upon  her,  when  in  answer  to  a  letter  telling  of 
her  new-found  happiness  and  plans  there  had  at 
once  come  one  from  Louise  breathing  earnest 
wishes  for  the  continuance  of  her  happiness. 
Although  she  spoke  hopefully  of  her  work,  and 
wrote  touchingly  of  the  degradation  about  her,  yel 
amid  it  all  there  was  an  undertone  of  sadness,  as  if 
the  writer  had  looked  into  the  coffin  of  a  dead  joy, 
and  this  the  mother  recognizing  and  yearned  afresh 
for  the  blithe  "singing  bird"  of  the  home,  but  she 
said  in  her  heart,  "She  did  right;  yes  she  did  right." 
But  alas !  for  the  pity  of  it ! 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A  KANSAS  PREACHER HIS  WORK. 

ONE  who  happened  to  be  of  a  speculative 
turn  of  mind  had  chanced  to  find  himself  on  a 
certain  western-bound  passenger  train  one 
day  two  summers  before  the  events  of  the  last 
chapters  he  would  have  looked  with  considerable 
interest  upon  a  young  pair  who  seemed  very 
much  at  home  amid  their  surroundings.  There  was 
about  each  a  quiet,  well  bred  air,  and  a  something 
that  proclaimed  them  fresh  from  their  books.  In 
addition  to  this  there  was  also  an  air  of — well,  if 
not  exactly  self-complacency,  at  least  of  self-satis- 
faction. Further,  if  the  onlooker,  bearing  the  prop- 
er credentials  in  his  face,  had  with  the  freedom  of 
travelers  engaged  the  young  man  in  conversation 
he  would  have  learned  that  the  pair  in  whom  he 
was  interested  was  the  Rev.  Asbury  Stevenson  and 
wife,  late  of  an  eastern  college,  that  during  the  last 
weeks  of  the  college  year  a  presiding  elder  of  one 
of  the  frontier  districts  in  Kansas  had  written  the 
faculty  to  name  a  young  man  who  could  take 


238  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

charge  of  a  small  "station"  (considerable  emphasis 
on  that  word)  on  his  district,  "  where  the  principal 
work  would  be  to  build  up  the  charge,  even  to  the 
church  building  itself,"  and  from  that  correspondence 
had  come  this  journey.  Their  destination  was 
Falls  City  which  city  the  young  divine  explained 
took  its  name  from  being  built  upon  a  river  by  that 
name. 

"Ahem,  and  have  you  ever  built  a  church? 
Know  anything  about  it?"  the  interrogator  might 
have  asked. 

"No,  but — "  Here  the  Rev.  Mr.  Stevenson 
would  have  paused,  and  in  some  inexplicable  wax- 
one  would  have  gotten  the  impression  that  half  a 
dozen  such  undertakings  would  be  a  matter  of 
small  importance  to  this  brave  youth. 

We  too  will  watch  these  young  travelers  awhile. 
In  a  little  while  their  train  has  reached  that  young 
stripling  of  a  city  which  to  the  traveler  seems  only 
the  place  where  all  the  inhabitants  of  the  nation  are 
all -at  once  engaged  in  the  frantic  effort  to  change 
cars  and  make  no  mistake,  but  which  the  native  res- 
idents tell  us  is  really  one  of  the  finest  cities  in  the 
world,  hence  call  it  Kansas  City.  Here  two  alterna- 
tives were  offered:  they  might  continue  their  jour- 
ney westward  at  once,  on  a  freight  car,  or  they 
might  remain  until  morning  and  take  a  passenger. 
Life  thus  far  had  held  no  freight  car  experiences  so 
they  continued  their  journey  at  once,  and  as  a 
result  of  their  decision  continued  it  for  many  long 


A  KANSAS  PREACHER.  239 

wearisome  hours,  even  until  they  of  the  later  passen- 
ger had  jauntily  passed  them  by. 

They  were  to  go  to  a  young  city  (they  had  left 
the  towns  all  east  of  the  Mississippi)  west  of 
Topeka,  and  thence  south  fifty  miles  in  a  stage. 

"  The  whole  country  looks  as  if  it  were  not  fin- 
ished," was  Mrs.  Asbury's  comment  as  she  peered 
out  of  the  car  window.  And  so  it  did.  There 
were  miles  and  miles  of  green  prairie',  with  not  a 
single  trace  of  a  living  being.  The  sun  beat  down 
remorselessly,  without  a  tree  in  sight.  Occasionally 
there  would  be  a  little  cluster  of  unpainted  box  like 
houses  that  stood  upon  the  prairie,  with  the 
tall  grass  growing,  quite  up  to  the  doors. 

At  last  the  railway  part  of  the  journey  came  to  an 
«nd,  and  as  the  Rev.  Asbury  was  leaving  the  freight 
he  looked  rather  lugubrious  as  he  did  some  careful 
brushing  of  his  lovely  "silk  tile."  But  the  real 
pleasure  began  .with  the  stage  ride.  Such  beauty! 
The  grass  was  so  green!  and  was  as  soft  as  any 
of  Mrs.  Ward's  elegant  carpets.  One  novel  feature 
was  the  undulating  swells  of  the  prairies,  which 
were  not  unlike  the  waves  of  the  ocean.  Here  and 
there  great  herds  of  cattle  pastured,  and  oh,  the 
flowers!  They  were  of  every  form  and  hue,  and 
before  the  journey  was  half  completed  both  of  the 
young  people  were  in  love  with  their  adopted  state. 

"  It  seems  to  me  it  is  rather  a  windy  day," 
remarked  Emma  as  she  drew  her  wrap  about  her. 
The  driver  smiled  and  murmured  something  about 


240  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

"Kansas  zephyrs;"  which  phrase  she  grew  to  know 
more  about  later  on.  A  little  purple  cloud  lay  very 
innocently  in  the  western  sky,  upon  perceiving  which 
Asbury  noticed  that  the  driver  whipped  up  his- 
ponies  and  kept  them  at  a  break-neck  pace,  eyeing 
the  cloud  in  the  meanwhile. 

At  last  in  a  relieved  tone  he  exclaimed,  "We'll 
make  it!"  Half  an  hour  later  they  were  clattering 
up  the  stree'ts  of  what  seemed  a  very  tiny  village 
that  had  lost  itself  in  immeasurable  distances.  The 
wind  was  blowing  quite  a  gale,  but  the  driver  man- 
aged to  say,  "There  is  our  new  court  house;  and 
there  our  school  house."  There  was  something  in 
the  very  tone  which  implied  expected  admiration,, 
but  it  was  now  growing  dark  rapidly.  As  the 
travelers  started  to  go  from  the  stage  to  the  hotel  a 
great  wind  lifted  the  elegant  "tile"  from  the  head 
of  the  Rev.  Asbury  and  sent  it  whirling  down  the 
street.  It  was  useless  to  follow  it,  though  he  half 
started  to  do  so.  Afterwards  he  called  this  his  first 
"Concession,"  for  the  next  morning  he  purchased  a 
regulation  broad-brimmed  "slouch,"  and  it  was 
many  a  day  before  he  owned  a  counterpart  of  the 
first. 

They  were  barely  housed  when  the  rain  was 
falling  in  torrents,  and  the  thunder — nothing  like  it 
had  ever  been  heard  before.  They  afterwards 
learned  this  was  a  peculiarity  of  the  climate. 
Nature  was  wont  to  act  as  if  she  had  an  extra 
amount  of  work  which  must  be  accomplished  on. 


A  KANSAS  PREACHER.  2il 

schedule  time.  The  rain  would  fall  in  torrents, 
thunder's  crash,  and  lightning  play  in  a  most  terrific 
manner,  but  in  an  hour  the  earth  would  be  bright 
and  smiling  after  her  bath,  and  the  roads  as  hard 
as  a  floor. 

Early  the  next  morning  the  young  minister 
hunted  up  the  "brethren,"  and  preliminaries  were 
arranged  for  getting  to  living.  He  and  his  young 
wife  received  a  hearty  greeting,  and  with  each  new 
presentation,  before  the  conversation  closed  the 
invariable  question  was  asked,  "You  have  of  course 
seen  our  new  court  house  and  school  building.'"'  and 
the  tone  implied  that  not  to  have  done  so  and 
be  able  to  admire  was  unpardonable.  One  of 
the  first  acts  of  the  baby  city  had  been  to  vote 
bonds,  and  utilizing  the  fine  building  stone  that 
abounded  in  every  hill,  had  built  a  really  fine 
court  house  and  school  building  which  stood  on 
the  actual  prairie,  the  pride  of  every  man  in  the 
city,  who  looked  upon  them  as  the  forerun- 
ners of  the  great  city  that  was  to  be.  They  also- 
served  other  purposes  than  those  planned  in  the 
original.  Done  in  lithographs,  they  tickled  the 
fancy  and  unloosened  the  purses  of  eastern  capi- 
talists. Besides  these,  the  town  consisted  of  a 
business  street  and  a  few  of  the  box-like  houses 
they  had  noticed  along  the  railway. 

During  the  forenoon  the  Rev.  Asbury  with  a 
volunteer  guide,  a  member  of  his  church,  started 
with  considerable  expectanc^jj^b  the  site  of  the  new 


242  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

church.  The  letter  describing  the  enterprise  had 
read  something  like  this:  "We  are  not  strong 
numerically,  but  the  imperative  need  is  a  church 
building.  This  we  must  have  to  hold  our  share  of 
the  incoming  population.  Such  an  enterprise  has 
been  begun,  but  abandoned.  We  have  the  finest 
site  in  the  city.  The  foundation  is  laid,  a  part  of 
the  building  material  is  on  the  ground,  and  we 
must  haye  an  active  young  man  to  push  the  work." 
It  all  sounded  so  well,  and  this  ministerial  fledgling 
started  out  fully  expecting  to  find  the  workmen 
hammering  away  upon  a  building  that  would  match 
the  court  house  and  school. 

As  the  walk  progressed,  and  house  after  house 
was  left  behind  his  anxiety  increased.  Finallv  he 
struck  what  seemed  the  open  prairie,  but  had  he  been 
familiar  with  the  map  of  the  city  he  would  have 
known  that  he  still  was  in  its  very  heart.  At  last 
his  companion  stopped,  exclaiming  "Here  we  are." 
"Here  is  what?"  Asbury  asked.  "The  church 
building."  Involuntarily  he  rubbed  his  eyes.  In 
front  of  him  was  a  tall,  rank  mass  of  what  seemed 
bushy  weeds,  which  he  had  already  learned  was 
the  native  sunflower.  Peering  through  these,  he 
saw  that  an  excavation  had  been  made  and  a  few 
foundation  stones  placed  in  position.  From  appear- 
ances it  perhaps  had  been  begun,  and  most  cer- 
tainly abandoned.  The  "building  material  on 
hand"  was  represented  by  a  pile  of  native  stone, 
also  sunflower  over-grown. 


HIS  WORK.  243 

"You  have  your  subscriptions  all  right?"  Asbury 
asked  in  a  voice  that  sounded  strange  even  to  him- 
self. 

"  Umph,  that's  what  we  sent  for  you  for." 

"  Now,  young  man,  do  you  think  you  can  build 
this  church?"  and  his  interlocutor  turned  a  critical 
look  upon  him,  "because  if  you  can't  you  had  bet- 
ter take  the  first  stage  east." 

Asbury  did  not  answer,  but  on  the  walk  back  he 
did  some  hard  thinking.  Strangely  enough,  this 
was  something  even  his  young  wife  could  not  help 
him  to  decide.  To  sum  it  all  up,  he  saw  clearly 
what  was  expected  of  him.  He  was  to  preach 
twice  each  Sabbath,  a  formidable  undertaking  in 
itself,  take  a  subscription  of  strangers,  many  of 
them  not  connected  with  any  church,  and  personally 
superintend  every  detail  of  a  work  he  knew  noth- 
ing about. 

As  his  chronicler  I  am  glad  to  write  that  at  this 
point  what  in  the  home  neighborhood  was  known 
as  the  "  sturdy  common  sense  of  the  Stevensons'' 
asserted  itself.  Things  were  not  as  he  had  ex- 
pected, "but  God  helping  him  he  would  not  fail." 
Sweeping  through  his  mind  came  innumerable  in- 
stances of  which  he  had  read,  of  the  heroic  efforts 
of  others  to  plant  the  church  elsewhere.  Indeed 
was  not  his  own  sister  meeting  every  day  discour- 
agements far  greater  than  any  that  could  confront 
him?  He  remembered  how  as  he  had  sat  about  the 
glowing  fire  in  the  comfortable  farm  home,  he  had 


244  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

been  thrilled  as  he  had  read  of  the  heroic  endur- 
ance of  those  who  had  braved  Indian  dangers  on 
the  frontier.  It  had  all  seemed  so  grand  then, 
should  he  yield  till  every  known  means  had  been 
tried? 

"7Vi?,"  and  though  the  little  handful  who  called 
themselves  the  "Church"  little  guessed  it,  their 
coveted  new  church  was  as  truly  built  in  that  hour 
of  introspection  on  the  part  of  the  young  pastor  as 
it  was  a  year  later  when  a  delighted  audience 
gathered  to  hear  the  dedicatory  sermon. 

At  length  a  little  house,  very  much  of  a  pattern 
with  the  rest,  was  procured,  and  the  home  life 
begun.  There  were  a  few  elegant  "touches"  from 
the  old  luxurious  home  of  Emma,  but  after  the  last 
piece  of  the  plain  furniture  was  in  place  Emma 
exclaimed,  "  Now  if  Louise  and  I  had  only  known 
it,  Mrs.  Hoyson's  home  was  elegance  itself."  But 
what  if  it  was  plain?  They  were  rich  in  love  for 
each  other,  rich  in  hope  for  the  future  and  in  con- 
secration of  their  young  lives  to  the  work. 

Emma  never  forgot  her  first  Sabbath,  A  kind 
of  hall  above  one  of  the  business  houses  was  being 
used  as  a  place  of  worship.  By  the  side  of  it 
stood  a  one-story  building  which  had  been  covered 
with  a  tin  roof  (lumber  was  a  luxury  to  be  used  as 
sparingly  as  possible).  She  had  never  heard  her 
young  husband  attempt  to  preach,  and  felt  a  wifely 
anxiety  that  he  should  favorably  impress  his  hearers. 
The  wind  was  sweeping  down  the  street  with  a 


HIS  WORK.  245 

momentum  that  carried  everything  not  securely 
fastened  before  it.  During  the  service  the  tin  roof 
beneath  kept  up  a  monotonous  rise  and  fall  with  a 
harsh  grating  noise  not  unlike  the  wail  of  impris- 
oned spirits.  As  for  the  preacher  himself  he  had 
gone  to  this  service  feeling  entirely  unable  to  meet 
it.  He  had  never  so  realized  his  insufficiency 
before.  As  he  arose  to  announce  the  hymn,  and  he 
beheld  the  questioning,  critical,  yet  not  unfriendly 
faces  before  him,  a  wild  desire  to  flee  through  the 
door  which  stood  invitingly  open,  seized  him.  But 
no,  he  half  argued  with  himself,  he  could  not  be 
mistaken.  That  conversion  of  his,  years  before  in 
the  little  room  of  the  log  house,  had  been  a  very 
real  occurrence,  yet  none  the  less  so  than  the  sub- 
sequent still  but  persistent  voice  which  had  led  him 
into  the  ministry.  Clearly  as  though  a  voice  had 
spoken  came  the  promise,  "  Lo,  I  am  with  you." 
A  sudden  agonized  prayer  for  help  went  up,  and 
the  sermon  began.  An  hour  afterwards  he  could 
not  have  told  what  he  preached,  whether  the  words 
were  lame  or  otherwise,  but  certainly  the  Spirit 
inspired  them.  A  strange  awe  fell  upon  the  little 
assembly.  Many  had  come  in  curiously  for  a 
glimpse  of  the  "  new  preacher,"  but  melted  before 
his  earnestness.  At  the  close  no  less  than  five  came 
forward  to  unite  with  the  church. 

The  next  morning  he  promptly  began  the  work 
of  obtaining  subscriptions.  Finally  he  had  a  suffi- 
cient amount  to  begin.  The  details  of  the  various 


246  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

steps  of  this  undertaking  need  not  be  recounted, 
but  he  soon  found  he  must  personally  superintend 
each  one.  Besides,  funds  were  scarce,  and  every 
dollar  must  be  made  to  count,  and  so,  though 
Emma  remembering  the  stately  and  dignified  Dr. 
Eloquent  of  the  h6me  church,  winced  a  little  as  she 
saw  her  husband  in  working  attire  making  a 
"hand,"  she  at  length  grew  reconciled  to  the  new 
order  of  things. 

There  was  one  unexpected  feature  of  the  new  life 
which  charmed  each,  and  that  was  the  remarkable 
general  intelligence  of  the  people.  It  was  no 
unusual  thing  to  find  rolled  up  and  laid  away 
upon  one  of  the  "general  utility  shelves"  of  the 
box  houses  a  diploma  bearing  the  seal  of  some 
good  college,  while  its  owner  busied  herself 
with  the  humbler  duties  of  homekeeping.  Men 
above  the  average  stood  behind  the  counters,  or 
edited  the  "hustling"  newspapers,  or  doctored  one 
when  the  native  malaria  got  too  deep  a  hold. 

The  cosmopolitan  character  of  the  new  home 
was  shown  in  the  fact  that  in  a  single  after- 
noon there  were  callers  whose  homes  from  which 
none  had  been  long  away,  had  been  in  New  York, 
Virginia,  Ohio,  and  indeed  nearly  every  state  in  the 
Union,  was  represented  in  the  Sunday  congrega- 
tion. 

The  new  church  was  to  be  of  stone.  Ten  miles 
distant  was  a  ridge  of  hills  which  took  their  name 
from  a  beautiful  stone  found  there  in  great  quan- 


HIS  WORK.  247 

titles.  This  was  to  be  used  for  the  front  and  finish- 
ing, and  hither  the  young  preacher  took  many  a 
trip  where  he  lent  a  hand  in  the  quarrying. 

At  last,  after  more  than  a  year  of  hard  work,  the 
building  was  completed,  and  a  lovely  Sabbath  saw 
its  dedication.  The  deep  "Italian"  sky,  in  the  lan- 
guage of  the  local  poets,  was  never  bluer  than  now. 
The  gentle  "zephyrs"  toned  themselves  down  to 
suit  the  occasion  as  they  left  the  green  sward  of  the 
prairie,  and  perhaps  there  never  was  a  happier  con- 
gregation than  that  which  gathered  that  day. 

The  young  pastor,  to  whom  all  acknowledge  is 
due  the  present  success  of  the  enterprise,  has  lost 
the  "student  air"  and  now  would  be  known  any- 
where as  the  keenly  alive,  western  "preacher." 
He  does  not  consider  his  work  done  with  the  com- 
pletion of  the  building;  he  is  now  as  keenly  alive 
to  the  spiritual  upbuilding  of  his  congregation. 

Xor  will  this  last  prove  a  less  easy  task.  Indeed, 
no  pastor  either  East  or  West  will  say  that  it  ever  is, 
yet  on  the  frontier  it  is  especially  hard.  There  is 
the  rush  to  become  established  in  business,  and  the 
temptation  to  forget  God  in  the  hurry  is  always 
present.  Besides  vice  takes  on  certain  more  em- 
phatic forms,  and  happy  the  leader  of  a  flock  that 
successfully  copes  with  all  these,  yet  in  this  last 
work  Asbury  Stevenson  will  not  stand  alone,  for  in 
the  heart  of  his  young  wife  is  as  strong  a  hatred  of 
sin  as  in  his.  So  leaving  them  for  a  time,  we  bid 
them  God  speed,  and  adieu. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 


A    RETROSPECT A    WEDDING DEATH    OF     RICHARD 

NEWTON. 

T  HAS  been  many  years,  some  wearisome, 
some  joyous,  since  the  group  of  watchers 
stood  upon  the  brow  of  the  hill  at  quaint, 
picturesque  Lynton,  and  waved  us  a  last  adieu,  as 
with  the  two  happy  pairs  in  the  great  canvas 
•covered  wagons  we  left  its  winding,  shady  street 
forever.  We  have  since  seen  the  terminus  of  that 
long  journey,  the  then  western  wilds,  develop  and 
•come  to  teem  with  life  and  a  marvelous  civilization. 

It  has  been  ours  to  see  and  note  the  struggles  in 
the  founding  and  guidance  of  the  homes  which  were 
established,  that  May  day  in  the  village  church  at 
Lynton,  and  the  working  out  of  the  individuals' 
problem  of  worldly  prosperity. 

In  these  two  homes,  as  in  every  home,  there  has 
been  constant  sowing  of  seed,  either  good  or  bad. 
The  harvest  of  some  has  already  been  garnered, 
but  all  seed  does  not  ripen  in  a  year,  nor  yet  in  a 
decade,  and  as  the  patient  husbandman  having 
seen  to  it  that  his  seed  possesses  the  true  germinal 


A   WEDDING.  249 

principles  of  life,  having  planted  them,  leaves  them 
in  perfect  faith  to  the  sure  offices  of  nature  to  effect 
the  growth,  and  in  its  season  with  unerring  sure- 
ness  gather  the  harvest,  so  we,  having  watched  this 
daily  home  sowing,  sometimes  with  joy,  as  often 
with  dread,  must  leave  to  the  years  the  final 
gathering. 

It  will  be  ours  therefore  to  drop  the  curtain,  nor 
will  it  be  raised  until  such  a  number  of  years 
has  passed  that  the  fruits  of  the  home  growing  will 
be  easily  recognizable.  We  hold  it  yet  a  moment 
to  note  one  or  two  events  of  interest  to  us. 

The  cottage  home  at  Burton  again  wears  a  holi- 
day appearance,  and  we  find  that  Earnest  Warren 
has  come  to  claim  his  bride,  and  gentle  Ruth 
Stevenson  is  to  go  out  from  the  home  forever.  Her 
loss  is  going  to  fall  heavilv  upon  both  father  and 
mother,  and  as  the  preparation  for  the  wedding 
festivities  progress  their  hearts  grow  heavier,  for 
from  the  time  that  her  father  had  held  her  in  his 
great  strong  arms,  she  a  wee  winsome  babe,  she 
had  nestled  verv  near  his  heart,  indeed  in  manv 
ways  she  was  his  own  counter  part.  She  had 
always  been  so  unselfish  in  her  life,  an  offset  .in 
many  instances  to  the  more  impetuous  nature  of 
Louise  and  of  her  brothers.  It  was  hard  to  imagine 
the  home  without  her. 

Yet  there  was  much  comfort  in  knowing  that  he 
who  was  to  be  her  husband  was  so  worthy.  He 
had  already  won  for  himself  an  enviable  name  as  a 

17 


250  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

teacher  in  the  college  to  which  he  had  gone  when 
his  own  school  days  had  ceased.  But  lie  desired  to 
still  further  pursue  certain  branches  of  study.  An 
opportunity  had  offered  itself  for  him  to  go  abroad 
for  a  year  or  two,  and  he  desired  that  Ruth  should 
accompany  him. 

Ruth  had  been,  as  we  know,  loth  to  give  up  the 
final  years  of  her  college  course,  but  the  home 
needs  had  seemed  to  make  imperative  the  accept- 
ance of  the  position  offered  her  in  the  Academy,  so 
it  was  with  genuine  pleasure  she  looked  forward  to 
a  year  or  two  of  further  study  with  her  husband,  in 
one  of  the  cities  of  Germany. 

The  wedding  day  at  length  dawned.  Asbury  and 
his  young  wife  honored  it  by  making  it  the  occasion 
of  their  first  visit  home.  Their  coming  has  been  her- 
alded for  weeks,  and  there  is  an  undertone  of  excite- 
ment which  strikes  us  as  very  strange.  John  the 
younger,  proud  of  his  commission,  has  driven  to 
fetch  them  from  the  train,  and  see,  they  are  at  the 
gate!  Ah,  now  the  mystery  is  plain.  Grandmother 
Rachel  is  herself  at  the  carriage,  and  her  great 
bearded  boy  has  held  her  in  his  arms  for  an  instant 
as  he  gives  her  the  greeting  kiss,  but  she  hardly 
notices  it,  she  is  so  eager  and  enwrapt  with  the 
strange  dainty  bundle  of  white  cambric  and  flannel 
motherly  Emma  is  handing  out.  Now  they  are  in 
the  house,  and  oh,  strange  sight!  When  the  little 
face  is  uncovered  and  she  bends  to  kiss  it  she  sud- 
denly breaks  down,  and  as  her  own  tears  fall  fast 


A  WEDDING.  251 

no  eye  of  all  in  the  room  is  dry.  Clasping  the  won- 
dering babe  to  her  breast  she  has  sobbed  aloud, 
"  Sweet,  sweet  baby  Louise!"  So  has  the  absent 
one  been  remembered. 

The  student  Edward  has  also  come  from  his 
books. 

The  hours  fly  swiftly,  and  soon  the  event  which 
has  summoned  them  is  a  thing  of  the  past.  And 
Ruth  is  gone. 

Asbury  lingered  for  a  few  days'  visit  of  course. 
The  pulpit  of  the  new  home  church  was  offered 
him,  and  old  neighbors  and  interested  friends  who 
had  known  him  all  his  life  gathered  to  hear  him 
preach. 

Among  them,  hardly  daring  to  look  up,  sat 
father  and  mother  Stevenson.  There  are  some 
things  which  can  only  be  imagined,  among  such  is 
the  quiet  thrilling  happiness  which  filled  these  faith, 
ful  hearts  as  they  heard  their  first  born  "  expound 
unto  them  the  things  of  God."  But  could  this 
strangely  earnest,  free,  and  at  all  times  really  elo- 
quent young  speaker  be  their  own  quiet,  shy  child? 

Ah,  brave  hearts,  it  was  yours  in  the  years  you 
had  not  only  him  but  his  brothers  and  sisters  as 
well  with  you  in  the  little  plain  log  home,  to  lay  tlie 
foundations  of  the  character  each  is  developing. 
You  indeed  builded  better  than  you  knew  with 
your  own  simple  faith  but  there  came  a  day  when 
your  last  moulding  touch  was  given  and  you  yielded 
them  to  others.  In  your  own  humble  lives  you  lit- 


•J.YJ  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

tie  guessed  the  breadth  of  soul,  the  enlargement  of 
vision  that  should  come  to  each  through  the  study 
and  associations  of  their  college  life.  And  in  the 
case  of  this  your  first  born,  within  the  last  years 
God  has  been  his  teacher  in  the  school  of  experi- 
ence, and  as  you  hear  his  burning  words  you  may 
well  say  humbly,  "  What  hath  God  wrought?" 

A  few  days  and  the  visitors  are  gone.  Of  the 
many  that  once  gathered  about  the  table  but  John 
and  Rose  are  left,  and  the  father  says,  "We  must 
all  love  each  other  the  more." 

*  *  *  *  * 

We  hold  the  curtain  yet  a  little  longer,  this  time 
to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  procession  that  with  a  sable 
hearse  and  nodding  plumes  slowly  winds  its  way 
to  the  city  of  the  dead.  Before  we  join  in  its 
measured  tread  we  shall  have  to  take  a  glance 
westward. 

Following  the  marriage  of  Ruth,  Asbury  had 
been  back  in  his  western  pastorate  perhaps  about 
two  years.  These  had  been  spent  in  hard  work. 
Falls  City  was  not  a  very  promising  field  for  a 
teacher  of  morality.  It  is  true  his  beautiful  church 
was  a  standing  invitation  to  all  who  would  to  enter 
and  worship,  yet  it  took  all  the  efforts  of  the  watch- 
ful and  alert  young  pastor  to  withstand  the  steady 
attacks  of  sin  and  vice  which  in  the  first  years  of 
every  western  town  contended  for  mastery. 

That  plague  spot  of  civilization,  the  open  drink 
shop,  flourished  unrestrained  by  law.  There  would 


DEATH  OF  RICHARD  NEWTON.  253 

be  days  and  nights  when  from  the  adjoining  ranches, 
"cowboys"  as  those  having  charge  of  the  great 
herds  of  cattle  there  were  called,  would  gather  in, 
drink,  gamble,  and  hold  a  carnival  of  sin.  A.t  such 
times  the  terrified  inhabitants  could  only  close  their 
doors  and  windows  and  listen  in  dread  to  the  crack 
of  the  pistol  which  told  of  the  summary  settlement 
of  some  fancied  insult. 

Because  of  all  this  it  was  not  with  a  great  deal 
of  surprise  that  on  a  morning  following  a  "cowboy 
raid"  Asbury  received  a  hasty  summons  to  visit  a 
man  who  had  been  shot  in  some  kind  of  a  melee 
during  the  night  and  was  said  to  be  dyings  Yet  if 
the  message  gave  him  no  surprise,  a  bit  of  infor- 
mation volunteered  on  the  way  did.  It  was  to  the 
effect  that  the  wounded  man  had  particularly  asked 
for  him  by  name.  Who  among  all  the  wild  men 
gathered  there  knew  him? 

Soon  he  was  shown  into  a  little,  narrow,  low 
room  where  lying  upon  a  bed  lay — could  he 
believe  his  eyes — his  once  brilliant  playmate  and 
friend,  Richard  Newton. 

Asbury  Stevenson  had  learned  something  of  his 
Master's  tenderness  during  these  years  of  trial. 
His  old  rigid  notions  had  insensibly  softened;  he 
had  been  growing  in  these  latter  days  to  look 
beyond  the  sinner  to  the  causes  that  made  him 
such,  and  now  Louise  could  not  herself  have  knelt 
more  tenderly  than  did  he,  nor  could  her  touch 
have  been  gentler  than  was  that  of  this  elder 


254  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

brother  of  hers  who  was  filled  with  ineffable  pity  as 
he  beheld  his  old-time  comrade. 

The  wounded  man  was  still  conscious.  "  No, 
he  cannot  live,''  said  the  physician,  "nor  will  it 
hasten  his  end  if  he  is  carefully  removed."  This 
in  answer  to  an  anxious  question  of  Asbury.  In 
an  hour  Richard  was  lying  in  the  cool  little  spare 
room  of  the  parsonage,  and  Emma  was  ministering 
to  his  needs. 

After  intervals  of  pain,  fragments  of  his  story 
were  gleaned,  and  piecing  them  together  the  Stev- 
ensons  guessed  the  last  few  months  had  been  full 
of  dissipation,  spent  somewhere  further  West. 
There  he  had  learned  of  Asbury's  residence  here, 
and  a  longing  desire  to  look  on  them  seized  him. 
He  had  not  yet  fully  decided  whether  or  no  he  would 
make  himself  known,  and  had  gone  to  the  hotel. 
He  had  but  lately  lost  his  all  at  the  gambling  table, 
and  that  night  he  thought  he  saw  his  opportuity 
to  win  back  a  part  of  his  loss.  Somehow  at  the 
cards,  he  could  not  tell  how,  trouble  had  arisen,  and 
he  knew  no  more. 

After  he  had  told  this  much  he  sank  into  a 
stupor,  from  which  nothing  could  arouse  him. 
Sometime  during  the  next  day  as  Emma  was  per- 
forming some  little  office  at  the  bedside,  Baby 
Louise  toddled  up,  and  stooping  to  take  her  in  her 
arms  Emma  called  her  bv  name.  Suddenly  the 
great  dark  eyes  of  the  stranger  opened,  and 
lighted  up  with  something  of  their  old-lime  beauty, 


DEATH  OF  RICHARD  NEWTON.  255 

and  bent  a  questioning  look,  first  upon  the  child 
and  then  upon  the  mother.  Divining  his  thought 
Emma  bent  and  whispered: 

"  Yes,  we  named  her  for  Louise." 

A  wistful  look  grew  in  the  eyes,  which  Emma 
thought  she  understood,  and  bending  she  smoothed 
a  place  and  laid  the  little  Louise  beside  him.  To 
her  surprise  the  child  did  not  shrink,  but  with  her 
baby  hands  gently  stroked  his  face.  And  thus* he 
died. 

Ah,  little  Louise,  was  it  some  subtle  influence  of 
whose  laws  we  as  yet  know  nothing,  that  coming 
from  the  great  heart  of  her  whose  name  you  bear, 
caused  this  baby  act  that  comforted  the  dying  man? 
Who  can  tell? 

"No,  he  must  not  lie  in  a  western  grave.  With 
our  going  there  will  be  none  to  bear  him  in  remem- 
brance. His  body  must  lie  by  his  mother's,  at 
home."  It  was  Emma  who  had  spoken,  as  she 
with  her  husband  stood  over  the  lifeless  clay  which 
lay,  with  the  old-time  beauty  restored  in  every 
feature. 

'•'•And  she,''1  and  Asbury's  voice  grew  very  tender, 
and  his  eyes  instinctively  turned  toward  the  Orient, 
^would  not  want  him  to  go  to  his  grave  unattended.' 

In  a  few  hours  all  that  was  mortal  of  Richard 
Newton  was  being  carried  eastward,  and  a  solitary 
saddened  man  accompanied  it.  Very  content  was 
he  in  his  humbleness  to  leave  the  spirit  with  the 
Great  Judge  who  knovveth  the  soul  environments  of 


256  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

us  all,  and  in  his  judgment  has  promised  to  remem- 
ber that  we  are  dust. 

And  it  is  this  body  we  have  seen  borne  to  the 
grave.  It  had  lain  in  the  old  home  over  night;  but 
once  was  the  covering  removed.  The  watchers  in 
the  adjacent  room  were  startled  by  the  sound  of 
footfalls.  Quietly  looking,  they  saw  an  old  man,, 
bent,  yet  not  with  the  weight  of  years,  go  slowly 
to*  the  bier,  lift  the  lid  and  place  therein  a  silver 
head.  No,  they  could  not  be  mistaken,  for  the 
delicate  golden  leaves  of  laurel  glistened  even  in 
that  dim  light.  Having  placed  it,  he  bent  a 
moment  over  the  still  rarely  beautiful  face,  and 
with  a  groan  turned  away. 

A  few  weeks  later  another  grave  was  made,  and 
William  Newton  was  no  more.  Poor  Therese 
must  have  died  under  all  these  cruel  blows  had  it 
not  been  for  the  Christian  faith  she  had  learned. 
But  her  future  seemed  indeed  without  a  ray  of 
promise.  So  at  least  it  seemed  to  her,  as  in  her 
sister's  elegant  room — it  was  impossible  for  her  to- 
remain  alone  in  the  great  house — she  sat  rocking 
Marie's  baby,  William.  Was  there  any  use,  after 
all,  for  her  to  try?  She  had  tried,  oh,  so  hard,  and 
just  when  her  own  and  her  father's  heart  seemed 
knitting  in  the  closest  sympathy,  these  last  trials 
had  come,  and  now  he,  her  last  friend,  was  gone. 
No,  it  was  no  use  to  try. 

Just  then  the  door  opened  and  the  housemaid 
entered  and  handed  her  a  letter.  "It  is  from- 


DEATH  OF  RICHARD  NEWTON.  257 

Ruth,"  said  she,  as  she  broke  the  seal.  Yes,  it 
was  from  Ruth,  who  wrote  such  gracious,  tender 
words  of  sympathy,  that  poor  Therese  wept  as  she 
had  not  during  all  these  dreadful  days.  Then  fol- 
lowed words  of  comfort.  Who  has  not  realized 
that  there  are  times  when  the  most  comforting 
thought  that  can  come  is  that  "  there  is  somebody 
else  who  cares."  Finally  came  the  glad  news  that 
they  were  to  return  shortly,  and  the  half  playful,, 
half  in  earnest  injunction  to  keep  up  her  studies, 
and  that  Earnest  was  very  sure  he  could  find  a 
place  for  her  as  teacher. 

"  And,  mind,  you  are  to  live  with  us." 
Wise  Ruth;  she  knew  Therese's  surest  means  of 
happiness  lay,  as  does  every  one's  in  work.  A 
grief  that  folds  its  hands  is  soon  well  named  des- 
pair, hence  she  sought,  and  did  arouse  her  to  action, 
for  as  she  finished  the  letter  she  said  with  an  air  of 
decision,  «•  No,  I  will  not  give  up." 

But  our  curtain  refuses  to  remain  longer,  so  we 
leave  not  only  Therese,  but  all  the  others  in  whom 
we  have  grown  interested,  to  the  tender  mercies  of 
the  years. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A  FAMILY  REUNION GATHERED  THISTLES. 

fIGHTEEN  hundred   and  ninety-three!     How 
much  may  happen  in  a  decade;  yet  if  we  add 
to  that,  one,  yet  another,  as  we  must  since  we 
last  looked  in  upon  our  friends,  the  changes  may  be 
startling.      If  this  is  true  of  a  family,  it  is  none  the 
less  so  of  a  nation. 

With  the  rapid  march  of  the  years,  almost  the 
last  trace,  except  in  the  hearts  that  still  ache,  ot  the 
dreadful  war  which  threatened  at  one  time  to  de- 
vastate both  North  and  South,  has  been  wiped  out. 
During  these  years  cities  have  been  planted,  or 
already  existing  as  little  more  than  villages,  have 
grown  with  a  rapidity  that  would  startle  even 
Aladdin  himself. 

The  new  forces  of  steam  and  electricity  have 
revolutionized  the  commonest  affairs  of  life.  One 
can  now  whiz  bv  on  a  car  drawn  as  the  ancients 
would  have  said,  by  magic  or  by  a  trick  of  the  same 
conjurer,  talk  with  a  friend  a  thousand  miles  away* 
recognizing  the  very  intonations  and  peculiar  inflec- 


A  FAMILY  REUNION.  259 

tions  of  the  voice;  and  yet  staid  history  assures  us 
that  this  wonderful  land  which  has  show*n  such  a 
marvelous  capacity  for  development  was  but  four 
short  centuries  ago  unknown  to  civilization,  but  at  that 
lime  an  intrepid  mariner  sailed  out  from  safety  into 
the  unknown,  and  after  a  journey  of  which  every 
detail  is  now  hunted  and  made  much  of,  he  was  able 
to  lay  at  the  feet  of  the  old  civilization  this  new 
world,  brimming  over  as  he  himself  little  guessed 
with  possibilities  for  the  future. 

Of  course  its  great  rivers  were  then  as  yet  un 
known,  its  great  inland  seas  unsuspected,  and  its 
cities  unbuilt.  Still  its  mere  finding  was  a  great 
event,  and  therefore  it  is  little  wonder  that  the  na- 
tions of  the  earth,  looking  back  through  the  centuries, 
resolved  to  celebrate  the  anniversary  of  its  finding, 
and  to  do  so,  had  arranged  to  bring  the  choicest  pro- 
ducts of  their  civilization  and  exhibit  them  on  a  scale 
of  magnificence  hitherto  unattempted.  The  winds 
caught  up  the  story  of  this  coming  splendor  and 
wafted  it  across  meadow  and  hill,  heather  and 
steppes.  The  current  carried  it  beneath  the  waves 
and  whispered  it  to  the  dwellers  in  the  region  beyond, 
and  the  eyes  and  thoughts  of  the  world  turned 
America-ward. 

Among  the  many  little  knots  or  groups,  who 
under  their  own  sky  and  in  their  own  tongue  dis- 
cussed the  wonders  that  were  to  be  seen  by  a 
journey  across  the  ocean,  there  is  but  one  that 
interests  us. 


260  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

In  a  well  built  mission  house  in  one  of  the  interior 
cities  of  China  a  little  group  of  missionaries  has 
lingered,  evidently  to  talk  over  "something."  A 
large  company  of  comfortably  and  neatly  clad  girls 
have  just  marched  out  of  the  chapel,  for  the 
"mustard  seed"  has  taken  deep  root,  grown  ;md 
spread  itself  not  unlike  its  scriptural  ancestor. 
Instead  of  the  erstwhile  narrow,  dirty  little  room  in  a 
wretched  part  of  the  city,  now  on  one  of  the  choicest 
knolls,  with  grounds  enough  about  them  to  give  the 
inmates  a  breath  of  God's  pure  air,  stands  a  cluster 
of  buildings  upon  which  they  who  planted  in  tears,. 
look  with  genuine  pride.  Besides  the  comfoi  table 
home  for  the  missionaries  there  is  a  roomy  school 
building,  in  which  is  the  chapel  we  have  just  seen. 
The  dream  of  a  "girls'  college"  is  a  reality. 

Let  us  glance  for  a  moment  at  the  missionary 
group.  Most  of  them  are  reinforcements  from  the 
home  land,  hence  strangers  to  us,  but  we  are  at 
once  attracted  to  a  bright,  happy — yes,  happy,, 
though  it  seems  a  happiness  born  of  pain — face  of  a 
woman  whose  brown  wavy  hair  is  beginning  to  be 
thickly  sprinkled  with  silver.  She  has  left  the 
organ  over  whose  keys  her  lingers  have  been  idly 
straying,  and  is  joining  the  little  group  who  are 
eagerly  discussing  some  question.  As  she  comes 
up  one  speaks,  evidently  for  all,  "  No,  we  cannot  all 
go,  much  as  would  like  to,  but  one  can  be  spared 
from  the  work,  and  that  one  must  be  our  brave,, 
cheery  worker  Louise,  who  in  all  these  years  has 


A  FAMILY  REUNION.    .  261 

never  been  to  the  home  land."  "  Yes,  so  say  we 
all." 

Louise  Stevenson,  for  it  is  she,  stands  for  a 
moment  strangely  disconcerted.  For  months  they 
of  the  mission  house  have  been  reading  of  the  won- 
derful happenings  at  home  but  better  to  each,  than 
sight  of  sculptor's  dream  in  marble,  or  of  artists' 
sublimest  conception,  would  be  to  look  again  into 
the  dear  faces  at  home,  or  to  sit  at  the  ingleside 
where  mother  was  wont  to  hum  a  lullabv,  and  for 
weeks  as  the  world's  procession  of  travelers 
America-ward  grew,  this  thought  has  taken  root  and 
grown  at  the  mission  house,  "cannot  at  least  one  of 
us  go?"  And  it  was  this  they  had  lingered  to  dis- 
cuss, and  their  decision  we  have  heard. 

At  length  Louise  spoke,  and  her  voice  trembled. 
"  Well,  I  don't  want  to  seem  selfish" — at  this,  they 
knowing  her  peculiarly  unselfish  life  smiled — "but 
it  seems  strange  that  father  and  mother  should 
still  live.  Sometimes  it  seems  that  I  must  see 
them  again,  and  then  I  can  contentedly  return 
and — ."  But  she  did  not  finish  the  sentence  with 
her  voice,  but  involuntarily  her  eyes  sought  a 
^little  sacred  spot  visible  from  the  chapel  win- 
dow, where  during  the  years  workers  had  one 
by  one  lain  down  to  rest.  So  it  was  settled. 
Louise,  the  hard-working  missionary,  was  going 
home,  and  an  outgoing  steamer  carried  the  news 
homeward  the  very  next  day. 

Again  and  again  during  all  these  long  years  she 


262  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

had  expected  to  go,  but  the  needs  had  been  so- 
urgent,  and  she  had  seemed  so  well  adapted  to  the 
work:  besides  her  health  had  been  good,  while  that 
of  other  missionaries  had  failed  and  when  they  had 
been  ordered  home  for  rest,  she  had  always  been  able 
to  fill  up  the  breach.  And  none  knew  better  than  the 
group  of  missionaries  in  the  chapel,  indeed  the 
whole  board  of  missions  as  well,  who  proudly 
pointed  to  "Our  college;"  that  its  inception  and  its 
steadv  march  towards  success  was  due  to  the  clear 
brain  and  indomitable  perseverance  of  her  who  w  as 
now  to  take  her  first  vacation. 

From  that  hour  when  she  had  held  entranced  with 
her  voice  her  first  unclean,  half-clothed  audience,  she 
had  known  no  rest.  She  had  used  her  pen  vigor- 
ously, and  in  response  welcome  donations  came  in 
for  the  proposed  college.  The  fame  of  her  voice 
grew  until  it  reached  and  captured  the  ear  of  many 
of  the  better  class.  Nor  was  that  her  sole  secret. 
Her  cheery  face  won  friends,  and  her  complete 
self  abnegation — indeed  she  seemed  to  have  lost  all 
thought  of  self,  and  to  be  lost  in  her  work — with  her 
instinctive  svmpathy  and  helpfulness  won  the  hearts 
of  all  who  came  in  contact  with  her. 

The  peculiar  rescue  work  of  the  mission  some- 
times uncovered  such  loathsome  cases  of  misery 
that  occasionally  one  less  brave  than  she  would 
shrink.  Sometimes  the  girls  who  came  to  them 
were  little  tiny  tots  who  had  come  into  the  world 
only  to  suffer  at  the  hands  of  parents  or  friends. 


GATHERED  THISTLES.  26$ 

Such  Louise  would  take  into  her   own   arms,  bathe 
and  clothe. 

And  now  she  was  going  home!  The  news  flew, 
and  when  the  day  came  for  her  to  sail  she  passed 
through  long  dusky  ranks  that  had  gathered  to  do- 
her  honor,  but  alas  for  overstrained  nature,  in  the 
.stress  some  of  these  forgot  their  studied  parts  and 

could  only  wail  aloud  in  true  oriental  style. 

*  *  *  #  # 

As  the  ship  bears  Louise  homeward  we  pause  to- 
gather  up  a  few  broken  threads  of  the  past. 

"Louise  is  coming  home!"  With  strangely 
blurred  eyes  an  old  man  had  sat  down  to  read 
aloud  the  letter,  bearing  the  strange  foreign  post- 
mark they  had  come  to  know  so  well,  and  the  first 
few  lines  he  read  told  the  story. 

Grandmother  Rachel  was  sitting  in  her ea«y  chair 
by  the  windows  of  the  "new  rooms"  she  had 
planned  so  long  ago.  Her  joy  at  hearing  the  glad 
announcement  must  be  imagined.  Later  as  she 
wiped  her  glasses  she  said,  "and  the  other  children 
must  come  too,  and  we  will  see  them  all  together 
again  before  we  go  hence."  But  before  that  joyful 
gathering  we  shall  have  to  ask  why  we  find  them 
sitting  so  contentedly  in  the  old  home. 

Their  youngest  son  had  made  good  his  boyish 
vow,  registered  over  the  glossy  mane  of  his- 
favorite  "Beauty."  Perhaps  a  rapid  sketch  of  his 
life  would  not  be  amiss. 

William   Newton    in    his   brightest   days  had  not 


•Jt!4  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

possessed  a  greater  desire  to  "get  on  in  the  world" 
than  did  this  country  boy,  but  there  was  this  dif- 
ference: The  lad  was  God  serving  and  God  fear- 
ing, and  as  we  have  seen,  in  his  earliest  years 
•began  by  rendering  back  unto  God  a  part  of  all  his 
gains,  yet  withal  he  possessed  true  business  acute- 
ness.  He  was  greatly  fascinated  by  Asbury's 
stories  of  western  life,  and  resolved  to  visit  that 
marvelous  country  at  the  earliest  opportunity.  He 
ihad  a  reason  for  this,  he  was  not  yet  ready  to  share 
with  anyone.  That  Arizona  land  haunted  him  like 
a  nightmare.  He  had  read  and  studied  with  inter- 
est everything  that  came  in  his  way  since  he  had 
had  the  "worthless  deed"  in  his  possession.  Once 
•he  had  read  that  copper  had  been  found,  yet 
not  in  quantities  that  would  make  its  "reduc- 
tion" profitable.  "  What  if,"  and  this  was  his 
•own  little  dream  that  lightened  many  a  homely 
task  these  days,  "what  if  this  particular  bit  of  land 
should  possess  the  valued  metal."  Therefore  he 
could  scarcely  conceal  his  satisfaction  when  one 
July  morning  found  him  journeying  west,  with  a 
whole  month  at  his  disposal.  Once  in  Asbury's 
.home  he  was  not  long  in  making  his  plans  known, 
and  a  week  later  he  had  started  on  a  tour  of  per- 
sonal inspection. 

The  land  was  easily  located.  Instead  of  being  a 
part  of  a  continuous  plain  as  he  had  supposed,  he 
found  it  broken,  with  here  and  there  great  rocky 
fissures,  and  not  greatly  distant  from  the  mountains. 


GATHERED  THISTLES.  265 

He  did  not  fail  to  feel  the  pulse  of  local  opinion 
concerning  its  value.  "Arid,"  "worthless,"  the 
precise  terms  u^ed  by  the  lawyer  years  ago,  and 
his  own  observations  as  he  wearily  tramped  over 
it,  confirmed  the  verdict. 

The  old  scene  in  the  lawyer's  office  came  back 
to  him,  and  though  he  could  not  have  explained 
why,  he  experienced  a  new  sense  of  loss.  Until 
now  he  had  not  guessed  how  much  he  had  builded 
upon  these  acres.  In  his  tramp  he  had  neared  a 
gulch,  and  being  wearied  in  body  lie  sat  down  upon 
a  ledge  of  rock,  and  sitting  there  gave  vent  to  the 
disappointment  he  could  not  but  feel.  • 

"How  useless  this  part  of  creation,  anyway." 
That  mountain  over  there  he  had  been  told  con- 
tained not  only  copper,  as  he  had  read,  but  metals 
even  more  precious,  but  worthless,  all  because  that 
homely  necessitv,  coal,  had  to  be  brought  from 
such  a  distance. 

'•  But  what  is  that?"  As  he  half  lay,  half  sat,  he 
had  been  mechanically  kicking  at  an  unoffending 
stone  that  lay  a  little  looser  than  its  fellows.  In- 
stantlv  his  old  lessons  in  geology  with  Louise 
flashed  upon  him.  "  I  believe  that  is  a  surface  indi- 
cation of  coal!"  What  if  it  were?  His  heart 
bounded,  for  that  very  morning  he  had  been  told 
how  profitable  copper  mining  would  be,  if  there 
were  only  coal. 

He  examined  more  closely,  then  returned  to  his 
slopping  place,  and  later  returned  with  pick  and 

18 


266  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

shovel,  and  soon  became  convinced  of  the  proxim- 
ity of  coal.  How  much  he  did  not  know,  this  he 
left  for  those  of  more  experience. 

He  anxiously  watched  the  workers  for  the  next 
two  days,  and  heard  almost  as  an  echo  of  one  of  his 
dreams,  "  It  is  a  good  paying  vein!" 

The  news  spread.  With  characteristic  western 
push  a  company  was  formed  and  within  a  week  he 
had  received  an  offer  that  equaled  in  value  the  old 
home  farm. 

John  suddenly  lost  all  interest  in  a  further 
western  trip,  and  hastened  home  with  the  surpris- 
ing news.  We  shall  make  no  attempt  to  depict  the 
surprise  of  the  home  folk.  The  offer  was  too 
gladly  accepted  and  was  used  at  once  in  the  re- 
purchase of  the  old  farm,  and  with  characteristic 
honesty  the  few  hundreds  in  excess  of  what  was 
needed  for  this  was  given  to  Therese  for  her 
father's  sake. 

This  was  the  beginning  of  solid  wealth  for  John 
junior,  for  his  parents  rightly  said  the  farm  ought 
to  be  his.  In  this  his  brothers  and  sisters  con- 
curred, so  the  transfer  papers  were  made  out.  He 
thought  so  well  of  the  coal  mining  company  that 
had  been  formed  that  he  persuaded  his  father  to 
loan  him  a  few  hundred  dollars  to  buy  stock.  In 
less  than  two  years  it  had  paid  for  itself  and  more, 
but  this  was  his  last  "speculation."  He  decided 
the  business  too  fraught  with  anxieties. 

The  log  house  had  gone  the    wav    of  the    earth, 


GATHERED  THISTLES.  267 

but  the  added  rooms  in  which  the  younger  Rachel 
had  taken  such  a  pride  were  still,  good,  and  after 
being  remodeled  would  make  a  cheery  "evening 
place"  for  the  father  and  mother,  and  it  was  here 
\ve  saw  them  at  the  reopening  of  this  story.  In 
the  course  of  time  John  had  built  his  own  great 
roomy  house  by  the  side  of  these,  indeed  connected 
by  a  door,  and  here  at  the  reopening  he  lives  with 
his  wife  and  growing  family  of  boys  and  girls. 

A  swift  successor  to  Beauty  carries  him  back 
and  forth  to  his  business,  for  the  old  mills,  remod- 
eled and  rebuilt,  have  been  his  for  many  a  day.  A 
steady  business  man  is  he,  recognized  in  the  home 
church  as  one  of  its  thorough-going,  truest  friends' 

"  Louise  is  coming  home!"  The  news  flew.  All 
agreed  in  the  wish  of  their  mother  that  they  should 
celebrate  her  coming  by  a  family  gathering.  She 
would  arrive  about  the  first  of  May.  Happy 
thought,  why  not  celebrate  the  fiftieth  anniversary 
of  the  wedding  that  occurred  in  Lynton  in  'forty- 
three? 

The  broad  acres  of  the  old  farm  had  never  looked 
more  beautiful  than  they  did  that  bright  May 
morning  when  the  great  farm  house  seemed  liter- 
ally alive  with  guests  and  children.  Rose  had  not 
far  to  come;  she  was  the  wife  of  the  prosperous 
farmer  who  owned  the  acres  adjoining.  Her  own 
and  her  brother  John's  young  people  had  been 
jealously  watching  the  great  orchard  that  for 
more  than  a  week  had  been  a  snovvv  mass  of  bloom. 


26S  GATHERED  THISTLE* 

Grandmother  had  told  of  the  old  sweet  wedding 
decorations  and  it  had  been  their  wish  to  reproduce 
them.  Would  the  blossoms  fade  too  soon?  was  the 
absorbing  question.  A  row  of  Winter  Greenings 
answered  by  delaying  their  bloom  two  whole  weeks 
after  the  others,  and  when  the  anniversary  dawned 
were  radiant  in  their  beauty.  Great  bowlfuls  stood 
in  every  nook  and  corner,  and  Rose's  eldest,  a 
sweet  lass  of  twelve  named  Rachel,  capped  the  cli- 
max when  she  pinned  a  spray  at  her  grandmother's 
breast,  and  arranged  a  smart  modern  boutonniere 
for  her  grandfather's  lapel. 

The  Rev.  Asburv  and  family  had  arrived.  His 
hair  is  whitening  rapidly.  It  is  yet  an  interesting 
question  in  psychology  whether  or  not  one  grows 
to  be  so  affected  bv  his  profession  or  calling  that  it 
becomes  in  a  sort  of  a  way  a  kind  of  badge.  At 
any  rate  you  would  have  taken  this  man  for  a 
preacher  anywhere,  and  a  western  one  at  that. 
Perhaps  the  unconventional  style  of  his  dress  and 
demeanor  suggested  the  latter,  or  it  may  have  been 
his  ready  utterance  and  earnestness  in  regard  to 
sins  both  private  and  national.  There  is  not  really 
a  hint  of  conservatism  in  his  whole  make  up. 

God  has  been  very  gracious  in  his  dealings  with 
this  our  erstwhile  young  minister,  and  lie  has  be- 
come a  strong  factor  in  both  church  and  state- 
The  word  "state"  is  used  advisedly,  for  during 
these  "last  twenty  years  a  great  moral  triumph  has 
been  won,  and  when  the  tocsin  of  war  sounded  he 


GATHERED  THISTLES.  269 

and  his  brethren  to  a  man  girt  on  their  swords  of 
ready  argument,  convincing  logic,  and  prayer  of 
faith.  They  spoke  while  standing  on  goods  boxes  on 
the  open  streets  on  week  days,  and  within  pulpits  on 
the  Sabbath.  Every  school  house  became  an  ora- 
tor's platform  from  which  this  new  movement  was 
heralded.  There  could  be  but  one  result.  To-day? 
in  all  that  state  there  is  not  a  legalized  place  like 
that  in  which  Richard  Newton  received  his  death 
wound. 

Those  were  heroic  days!  The  younger  children, 
even  now,  love  to  gather  while  Aunt  Emma  tells  of 
burning  churches,  of  threatened  lynchings,  and 
sometimes  of  blood  shed. 

Edward,  the  quiet  scholar,  the  ready  writer  and 
apt  scientist,  is  also  here.  1 1  is  "maiden  article"  was 
followed  by  manv  others.  To-dav  he  is  a  valuable 
contributor  to  many  of  the  current  periodicals. 
Contrary  to  his  mother's  expectations,  he  too  en- 
tered the  ministry,  but  under  circumstances  very 
different  from  those  of  his  brother  Asbury,  for  his 
first  charge  was  a  city  mission.  He  did  most  excel- 
lent service  here  for  two  years  and  it  was  here  he 
found  his  bride.  She  had  grown  up  in  a  parsonage. 
His  ministerial  prospects  seemed  unusually  bright, 
but  just  at  this  juncture  his  alma  mater  give  him 
an  urgent  call  to  teach  in  its  halls,  offering  him 
what  he  most  loved,  the  Sciences.  Finally  he 
yielded.  It  was  as  well,  for  time  has  proven  him  a 
rare  educator.  To-dav  he  is  a  recognized  authority 


270  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

upon  botany.  Go  into  your  high  school,  and  more 
than  likely  the  authorized  text  book  on  that  science 
will  bear  his  name. 

Ruth  Warren  and  her  husband,  with  their  child- 
ren, have  come  from  the  far  West.  For  years  he 
has  been  president  of  a  western  college  that  is  tak- 
ing front  rank  among  its  more  pretentious  eastern 
sister.  It  would  take  a  great  deal  of  time  and 
space  to  tell  the  half  of  Ruth's  life  successes.  She 
has  been  the  companion,  fellow  student  and  inspira- 
tion of  her  husband.  She  is  an  intelligent  factor  in 
the  church,  and  a  sweet  and  gracious  mother;  in 
short  her  womanhood  is  but  the  fruitage  of  the 
promise  of  her  girlhood. 

But  the  centre  of  attraction  to  all,  even  to  the 
elders  as  well  as  the  younger  ones,  was  a  sweet- 
faced  elderly  woman  with  frost  sprinkled  hair,  of 
whom  at  first  the  younger  ones  stood  a  little  in  awe. 
How  could  they  think  a  missionary  whom  they  had 
never  seen  a  bit  of  common  flesh  and  blood  like 
themselves.  But  a  few  cheery  laughs  from  the 
missionary  and  that  vanished.  And  how  proud 
they  were  of  their  own  Aunt  Louise,  of  whom  each 
has  heard  all  their  lives.  Is  it  true,  or  do  we  imag- 
ine it  that  sometimes  her  gaze  rests  most  lovingly 
upon  that  other  sweet  young  Louise  Stevenson,  the 
babe  of  twenty  years  age,  who  has  just  completed 
the  course  at  her  "Uncle  Earnest's  college,"  or 
that  with  a  peculiar  fondness  she  caresses  the  soft 
white  h;md  that  lies  in  her  lap.  Perhaps,  though, 


GATHERED  THISTLES.  271 

it  is  all  our  fancy,  for  she  is  the  life  of  the  gather- 
ing. What  marvelous  stories  she  tells  of  far  away 
China,  and  of  the  mission  life.  It  all  sounds  so  grand 
that  half  the  younger  ones  are  secretly  resolving -to 
become  missionaries. 

We  had  not  noticed  that  in  this  group  there  are 
two  strange  faces;  not  strange,  either,  for  we  have 
seen  them  before.  One  of  them  is  sitting  near 
Ruth  Warren.  It  is  the  quiet,  happy  face  of 
Therese,  with  the  heartache  all  gone. 

All  of  Ruth's  written  promises  were  fulfilled. 
After  she  and  her  husband  had  returned  and  he 
was  settled  in  his  work,  he  did  interest  himself  in 
her  behalf  and  secured  for  her  a  position  as  teacher. 
So  it  came  about  that  she  made  her  home  with 
Ruth,  as  was  suggested.  Ruth  greatly  encour- 
aged her  to  active  Christian  work,  and  in  her  heart 
grew  up  the  peaceable  fruits  of  righteousness,  and 
the  dreadful  past  slipped  away.  Finally  when  one 
of  the  best  and  most  prosperous  business  men  of 
the  city  asked  the  really  handsome  Mrs.  Les  Page 
to  share  his  name  and  home,  she  consented. 
There  was  little  romantic  fervor  about  this  second 
marriage,  but  Therese  was  as  well  satisfied.  Since 
that  day  her  life  has  been  a  constant  joy,  and  a 
happy  circle  of  boys  and  girls  is  growing  up 
around  her  hearthstone. 

That  remarkably  handsome  lad  over  there,  who 
with  a  careless  grace  has  just  thrown  his  arm 
about  Aunt  Louise,  somewhat  to  the  discomfiture 


272  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

of  the  latter's  own  neices  and  nephews  is  Therese's 
eldest.  She  calls  him  Richard. 

Marie,  too,  is  here  to  honor  the  day.  She  and 
her  daughters  are  resplendent  in  elegant  clothes. 
She  is  quite  as  daintv  and  pretty  as  ever.  Her 
husband  is  a  careful  business  man,  and  there  is  no 
reason  to  think  that  life  will  ever  be  otherwise  than 
what  it  is,  a  succession  of  luxuries,  but  she  feels 
strangely  out  of  place  among  those  to  whom, 
though  neat  and  well  dressed,  clothes  are  only 
a  necessary  adjunct,  and  whose  conversation  runs 
entirely  upon  questions  and  topics  of  which  she 
has  scarcely  heard. 

Poor  Marie;  she  has  lived  and  is  living  her  nar- 
row little  life.  The  prevailing  styles  and  petty 
local  society  triumphs  have  been  her  horizon.  She 
reads  a  little  of  the  daily  papers,  especially  that 
part  which  describes  society's  doings,  indulges  in 
a  novel  occasionally,  but  of  the  great  world  of 
thought  and  of  the  day's  moral  battles  she  is  ignor- 
ant. Pity  for  poor  Marie  and  her  kind. 

Her  daughters  have  neither  her  beauty  nor  her 
dainty  ways.  Indeed,  as  we  catch  the  startling 
slang  that  falls  from  their  lips  we  fear  they  border 
on  rudeness.  Margaret,  the  eldest,  is  older  than 
Asbury's  Louise.  She  is  already  a  blase  young 
lady  who  has  quaffed  every  cup  of  pleasure  society 
has  to  offer.  She  with  her  younger  sisters  finds 
this  gathering  very  "stupid,"  although  the  young 
folks  have  planned  bicycle  races  up  and  down  the 


GATHERED  THISTLES.  273 

shady,  gravelled  lane,  and  are  performing  miracles  of 
grace  with  Indian  clubs  and  dumb  bells,  and  have 
even  after  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  erected  a  tennis 
court  in  the  grassy  meadow  beyond.  "  But  such 
things  are  so  childish." 

We  have  spent  so  much  time  in  noting  the  guests 
we  can  hardly  look  in  at  the  groaning  table,  nor 
pause  to  offer  our  congratulations  and  well  wishes 
to  the  aged  pair  whose  hearts  are  so  happy  to-day. 
Nor  can  we  stop  to  listen  to  the  fun  of  the  younger 
ones,  nor  even  study  the  characteristics  of  any  this 
younger  generation,  except  to  say  that  all  bear  the  im- 
print of  health.  The  mother  of  each  set  of  children, 
whether  in  college  town,  Kansas  parsonage,  or 
of  the  free  life  of  the  farm,  has  made  physical 
culture  a  specialty.  Their  clothes  are  made  for 
a  purpose,  rather  than  for  an  end.  Though  one  or 
two  of  the  group  have  reached  and  passed  the 
twentieth  year,  yet  the  talk  is  still  of  study,  so  we 
infer  they  are  all  walking  closely  in  the  paths  of  their 
elders.  But  the  day  is  waning,  Marie  has  gone  to 
her  home,  Therese  and  her  children  have  accom- 
panied them. 

The  brothers  and  sisters  gather  in  the  dusk  in 
the  great  parlors,  and  much  of  the  family  history  is 
recounted.  Reminiscence  follows  reminiscence,  and 
it  is  not  strange  that  often  the  hearty  laugh  rings 
out.  But  the  reflections  are  not  all  thus  cheerful, 
for  that  other  happy  couple  who  began  life  also  fifty 
years  before  is  remembered,  and  all  grow  hushed  in 
19 


274  GATHERED  THISTLES. 

genuine  pity  as  the  name  is  mentioned.  Nor  can 
much  be  said,  for  that  sorrow  lies  too  close  to  the 
heart  of  one  of  their  own. 

This  aged  couple  has  indeed  reason  for  thanks- 
giving. As  their  children  gather  about  them  each 
comes  as  a  servant  of  the  King,  and  what  matters 
it  whether  the  world  ever  bestows  its  plaudits,  the 
consciousness  of  an  honest,  upright  life  is  sufficient 
reward. 

"To  have  acted  well  our  little  part, 

There  all  the  honor  lies.'' 
***** 

In  the  dusk  of  that  same  evening  a  solitary 
figure,  that  of  a  woman,  might  have  been  seen 
picking  her  way  among  the  older  graves  of  the 
city  cemetery.  Presently  she  paused  beside  a 
sunken  one,  and  leaning  upon  the  plain  shaft  which 
marked  it,  she  murmured  the  one  word,  "  Richard !" 

During  this  day  of  rejoicing  brave  Louise  Ste- 
venson had  gone  about  with  such  an  ache  tugging 
at  her  heart,  as  her  family  little  guessed. 

When  the  tall  and  well  formed  lads  and  lasses 
had  gathered  about  her  and  begged  for  a  song,  or 
the  younger  ones  with  greater  freedom  had  clamb- 
ered upon  her  knee,  she  had  realized  anew  the 
depth  of  her  loss,  in  that  woman's  richest  crown  of 
wifehood  and  motherhood  had  been  denied  her. 
Further  it  had  been  borne  in  upon  her  that  she  was 
a  stranger  in  her  own  land,  and  though  her  family 
held  her  dear,  yet  they  had  learned  to  do  without 


GATHERED  THISTLES.  275 

her.  She  had  lost  her  place  among  them;  plainly 
her  "niche"  was  no  longer  here,  but  across  the 
sea. 

In  a  short  time  she  must  turn  her  face  east- 
ward; a  few  more  years  of  work,  and  then  her 
body  would  rest,  not  here  as  might  have  been 
its  right,  but  there  in  a  mission  "  God's  Acre." 
Abandoning  herself  to  her  grief,  she  knelt  by 
the  grave  of  her  youthful  lover.  The  past  came 
back  so  plainly.  How  beautiful  he  had  been ; 
how  generous;  how  warm  the  impulses  of  his 
heart;  how  gifted;  to  whit  heights  might  he 
have  climbed.  But  kneeling  there  as  with  light- 
ning flash  she  saw  the  fatal  web  that  had  been 
woven  about  him  from  his  very  boyhood.  She 
heard  again  the  mazy  tread  of  the  home  dance, 
caught  the  sparkle  of  the  home  wines,  and  listened 
to  the  cynical  sneer  concerning  things  holy. 

She  beheld  the  web  tighten  as  the  temptations  of 
college  life  assailed  him,  and  recalled  the  proud 
boast  of  his  chosen  college,  that  it  was  "  broad, 
liberal,  and  unhampered  by  the  narrowness  of 
creed." 

"My  Darling  Richard!"  she  moaned  in  her 
agony.  "It  is  indeed  true,  men  cannot  gather  grapes 
from  planted  thistles,  and  your  wrecked  life  was 
after  all  but  natural  fruitage." 

But  alas,  that  the  harvest  should  be  so  bitter! 

THE    END. 


A     000  031  626     5 


